



























SMOKE OF THE .45 











































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- 




“Wal, you’d better untie Gallup. He don’t look happy.” 









SMOKE OF THE .45 


BY 

HARRY SINCLAIR PRAGO 

AUTHOR OF “OUT OF THE SILENT NORTH” 


J 


FRONTISPIECE BY 

FRANK TENNEY JOHNSON 


NEW YORK 

THE MACAULAY COMPANY 


TZ* 

S 


Copyright, 1923, 

By THE MACAULAY COMPANY '< 







PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


© Cl A 7 8 0 2 7 5 



THOMAS A. BRANDON 


-COMPANION OF MANY TRAILS— 

THROUGH WHOSE EYES 
I LEARNED TO LOVE 
THE DESERT. 


> 








+ 9 










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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Out of the Past .n 

II The Red Hand.22 

III By His Own Hand ...... 35 

IV Foot-Loose.50 

V The First Clue.58 

VI Outside the Law.68 

VII If This Be Love.85 

VIII Straight Talk.95 

IX Two Old Men.103 

X Molly Kent.. . . 112 

XI More Than a Bet.118 

XII Molly Explains.122 

XIII “He Is My Friend".126 

XIV For the Heart of a Girl.138 

XV Madeiras Gets a Chance.151 

XVI Bitter Fruit.159 

XVII Gallup’s Price.168 

XVIII “Kill Him, the Thief”.175 

XIX “Come and Get Him”.187 

XX Without Pay.202 

vii 






















vm 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI Two Dead Men. 212 

XXII The Face in the Window .... 221 

XXIII The Gun Speaks. 229 

XXIV Johnny Dice Comes Back to Life . . 238 

XXV Madeiras Asserts Himself .... 248 

XXVI Between the Lines. 253 

XXVII Time to Act. 262 

XXVIII Johnny Talks at Last. 268 

XXIX Evidence to Convict. 273 

XXX Madeiras Appears at Last .... 283 

XXXI The Death Chant.290 

XXXII The Debt Is Paid ....... 297 

XXXIII Fulfillment.. . . . 308 












SMOKE OF THE .45 








SMOKE OF THE .45 

CHAPTER I. 

OUT OF THE PAST. 

September had come and gone, leaving the 
desert brown and somber against the graying sage. 
The first of the cold rains had fallen. Round¬ 
up time was past. The cattle left in the hills 
were moving down to lower pastures. Unerringly 
they sensed the brief Indian summer yet to come, 
which would turn the grasses green for a few 
brief days before the cold, snow-bringing winds of 
late October were upon them. 

There was that in the air on the range which 
said the year’s work was over. . . . The world 
was waiting. But in the little towns plumped 
down beside the shining rails of the Espee and 
the Western Pacific, all was activity and bustle. 

ii 


12 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


The steer shipping was on and the held-over wool 
clip was going aboard the cars. It was the har¬ 
vest time of the mountain desert—the pay day 
of the range. 

Pockets were well lined. There had been 
famine—days on end of hard work, of no spend¬ 
ing. Now was the time of plenty, of satisfied ap¬ 
petites. Winnemucca, Golconda, Elko, Halleck, 
Standing Rock, in the heart of Ruby Valley— 
they were all alike—boisterous, turbulent, pros¬ 
perous; save that Standing Rock, newer than its 
sister towns, was more boisterous, more continu¬ 
ously turbulent, and less concerned with its future 
prosperity. 

And yet there was one who entered its hospit¬ 
able gates this late afternoon who seemed un¬ 
touched by its gayety. His eyes, screwed into the 
perpetual squint of the true desert breed, viewed 
Standing Rock’s activities with apparent uncon¬ 
cern. It was an old story to him. He knew 
the desert’s little ways! 

His coming caused no comment. And this, de¬ 
spite the fact that his clothes were of an almost 
forgotten cut, popular in the days when Dodge 



OUT OF THE PAST 


i3 


City reaped its harvest from the great northward 
trek of the longhorns. 

The Big Trek is a thing of the past; the trail 
itself lost, forgotten. Dodge City has long 
since settled down to most proper respectability. 
And those hard-fisted, quick-shooting men who 
squandered their wealth and lives, there, along 
the way from Santa Fe, have departed to that 
limbo from which none return. 

But a practiced eye would have said that the 
man who rode into Standing Rock this day was of 
that crew. His face was a fighting face, withal 
he was on in years, gray hair closely snugged to 
his head. In other days he had been a rugged 
man; but there was a sadness upon him now, a 
wistfulness in the eyes, that softened his boldly 
chiseled features. 

That he moved unnoticed is proof again that 
our one cosmopolitan zone has ever been the great 
West. Spurs, bridle, saddlebags, reata, even the 
big, high-stepping stallion which he rode were 
foreign to northern Nevada. That they were 
Spanish or Mexican—the difference is slight in the 
West—no one cared a hoot. The desert is wide. 



14 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Men have a habit of coming long distances, and 
from strange places. And best—far best of all— 
a man’s business was his own business! 

The two trunk lines paralleled each other in 
passing through the town. In the short half mile 
between them, Standing Rock took form; half fin¬ 
ished, half painted—a one-street town of one 
story buildings making a brave show with their 
Cripple Creek fronts. 

Hard by the Espee tracks this monotonously 
regular sky line was broken. For there, wonder 
of wonders, stood a two-story brick structure—a 
hotel!—the pride of Ruby Valley; the Marble 
Palace; J. Scanlon and V. Escondido, proprietors. 

Steer and wool money had financed it, hence 
Vincenzo. He was a petulant Basque, and al¬ 
though in the storied past he and his people had 
sprung from stock as Celtic as his partner’s, he 
1 —Vincenzo—was in a fair way of being erased 
by the versatile Scanlon. In quite the same fash¬ 
ion their institution had lost its chilling and un¬ 
deserved title—unless the marble-topped bar were 
justification—and was called, in easy familiarity, 
the Palace. 



OUT OF THE PAST 


15 


The profits of this establishment were re¬ 
stricted solely to the first floor, for, save at times 
like this, or when some unfortunate commercial 
traveler missed No. 19 going west, no one ever 
thought of staying there the night. But, oh, the 
profits of that lower floor!—bar and keno, rou¬ 
lette and poker of a flexibility well calculated to 
satisfy the whim of the most jaded customer. 

Having stabled his horse and placed his saddle, 
saddlebags and bed roll on a convenient peg, the 
stranger made for the door of this hostelry. It 
was a few minutes after five. The Diamond-Bar 
waddies were having their turn at the shipping 
pens. An hour later they would be making merry. 
Now, though, the street was deserted. The wool 
platform was directly in back of the hotel. The 
spur of track leading to it managed to squeeze 
past the hotel by the narrowest of margins. 

Four loaded cars stood on the siding. By six 
o’clock another would be filled. A freight engine 
would shunt them upon the main line that evening, 
and start them on their long ride to Boston. 

For another week this would go on. At least 
twenty heavy freighters, piled high with baled 



16 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


wool still reeking of the creosote dip, stood in 
the space about the platform waiting to be un¬ 
loaded. More would come. Twenty-mule teams 
dragging three, and even four, wagons chained to¬ 
gether would snake in the smelling fleece. 

Standing Rock should have been a place of 
ample elbow room, but here, in man’s peculiar way, 
was its greatest activity jammed in a space so 
crowded that the stranger stopped to watch the 
Basque boys as they fought the big bales with their 
long, steel wool hooks. 

His interest in the work on the platform caught 
the attention of a man who sat in the Palace bar, 
feet on the window sill, chair tilted back in com¬ 
fort. This man had been sitting there some time, 
busy with strings of figures on the pages of a 
small leather-covered memorandum book. This 
occupation had absorbed his entire attention for 
many minutes; but as he stared at the stranger 
standing beside the track the little book fell from 
his fingers. Almost with one motion his feet came 
down from the sill and the chair to its four legs. 
His face was white when he straightened from 
snatching for the little book. 



OUT OF THE PAST 


i7 


He darted another glance at -the stranger, as 
if doubting his senses. He had made no mistake! 
His hand trembled as he pushed the chair out of 
his path. 

“It’s him,” he muttered. “Traynor!” 

A belated sense of caution caused him to sweep 
the room with his eyes to see if any one had ob¬ 
served his ill-concealed alarm. A sigh of relief 
forced itself to his lips as he saw that Escondido, 
the Basque proprietor, was his only companion. 
Vin was hunched over the bar, his head resting in 
his arms, sound asleep. 

A rear door led to the wool platform. The 
man tiptoed to it quickly, and without a backward 
glance passed outside. A second later the stran¬ 
ger was shaking Vin back to consciousness. 

“I want a room, muchacho ” he said with some 
impatience. 

Vin blinked his eyes. “No room, senor. Theese 
hotel is feel up. Plenty men in town.” 

“I’m not stayin’ all night. It’s goin’ to rain. 
I’ll go on after the stormin’s done. You let me 
have one of the boys’ rooms. They won’t be 
turnin’ in till late. I’m dead tired.” 



i8 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Sure, Mike! I guess we feex leetla theeng 
like that. You take the end room. I call you nine 
o’clock.” 

The Basque turned to fish out from a pile of 
soiled papers a dilapidated book which served the 
place as a register. 

“You put your name in theese book, senor” 

He held it toward the man, pencil in his free 
hand. The stranger’s eyes held Vin’s as he took 
the book and pencil; but instead of writing as re¬ 
quested, he closed the book and put the pencil on 
top of it, after which he placed them with extrava¬ 
gant care on the polished bar. 

Vin started to protest, but the man’s squint¬ 
ing, smiling gray eyes made him pause. Damn 
these gringoes when they smile! 

“No,” the stranger was saying. “Niente, 
senor. I’ve just clean fergot how to write. You 
understand?” 

“Si, $i. }) Escondido was not lying. He un¬ 
derstood the eyes. It was sufficient. Then, with a 
shrug of the shoulders and a grin: “Me, I pretty 
dam’ well ferget how to read somethings, too.” 

“Senor, you are a man of wisdom.” 



OUT OF THE PAST 


19 


A few minutes later, having removed his boots 
and draped his gun belt and hat over a convenient 
chair, the man was asleep. Neither the noise from 
the platform nor the heavy smell of creosote 
drifting in through the open window disturbed 
him. He had been in the saddle twelve hours that 
day. 

The freshening wind and the gathering clouds 
to the north bore unmistakable promise of ap¬ 
proaching storm. This would have caused him 
no concern. He had foreseen it and molded his 
plans to its whim. A conversation going on in a 
cabin across the tracks would have been of in¬ 
finitely more interest. He was the subject of that 
talk; one of the two thus engaged being the man 
who had stolen out of the Palace bar. 

“I tell you it’s him,” he repeated doggedly from 
time to time. “Ain’t no ghosts scarin’ me thata- 
way. It’s Crosbie Traynor.” 

“And him dead these twenty years?” 

“I thought he was dead. Men left on the 
Painted Desert without water and no food don’t 
come back. He’s done it, though I It’s him. 
Still wearin’ one of my old hats—the one with 



20 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


that Moqui horsehair band. You remember— 
had a gold snake luck piece snapped on to the 
band. I tell you he looks like the livin’ spit of 
the way he did that night down on the Little 
Colorado.” 

His companion said nothing, but the sweat of 
fear had broken on his forehead. Crosbie Tray- 
nor’s return to the land of living men was as 
ominous as those black clouds gathering to the 
north. Death walked in the air. 

The little schemes, the plotting, the treachery 
of twenty years now crumbled to ruins! Not for 
a second was it to be supposed that Traynor had 
come to Standing Rock by accident. The man’s 
country lay far to the south, hundreds of miles. 
Yes, it was his way to ferret them out, to hang 
on, drifting from town to town until he tracked 
them down. 

“Damn you for a bungling fool!” cursed the 
brooding one. The man from the hotel sank 
lower into his chair, spineless, impotent in the 
face of that ghost-man’s visit. He raised his 
hands to shield his eyes from his companion’s 
wrath as the other went on: 



OUT OF THE PAST 


21 


“A bungling, white-livered fool! That’s what 
you are! Now we’ll be lucky if our necks don’t 
get stretched.” 

“What you goin’ to do?” 

“Do?” The man got to his feet and shook his 
fist in his visitor’s face. “I’m going to do wh^t 
you tried to do. I’m going to get Traynor before 
he gets me. Is that plain enough for you?” 

“You—you goin’ to kill him?” 

“Oh, bah!” the other hurled back with fine 
contempt. “That scares you, huh? Where’ll you 
be if he ever gets wind of you? That makes you 
shiver, eh? Well, you get this idea under your 
hat and let it stick there—you’re taking orders 
from me. ‘Cross’ Traynor is going to be erased!” 



CHAPTER II. 


THE RED HAND. 

Darkness came, bringing the day’s work to 
an end. The commotion on the wool platform 
ceased. Down the tracks from the direction of 
the shipping pens came the Diamond-Bar boys. 
They had just put ten hours of hard work be¬ 
hind them, but one would not have guessed it from 
their present vociferousness. 

Johnny Allerdyce, or rather Johnny Dice—to 
give him what he called his “nom devoid ”—led 
the column headed for the Palace. He was walk¬ 
ing the ties, taking three of them at a step. Be¬ 
hind him some fifteen of his pals were strung out 
at varying intervals. 

Johnny’s legs were pronouncedly bowed from 
his life in a saddle, and this long-stepping walk, or 
half run, only accentuated his deformity. Big 
hat flapping in the wind, the tails of his necker¬ 
chief flattening out behind him, made him seem 
22 


THE RED HAND 


23 


grotesque. But there was action in every line of 
him, untouched vitality. Freckled face, untamed 
hair of flaming hue—they were fit companions for 
his dancing, mischievous eyes. 

“Hi, hi, you gamblin’ fool,” some one in back 
of him yelled. “I hope you stub your toe and 
break yore damned haid. You let me know how 
the town is when you git there!” 

“You tell him, cowboy!” Johnny flung over his 
shoulder. “I crave food and pleasure!” 

Laughter of marked contempt greeted this re¬ 
tort. Somebody cried: “Liar!” Johnny was 
strictly a night-blooming plant; this talk of food 
was just talk. 

At the hotel, Vin was going about lighting the 
lamps. No one ever locked a door. In turn, he 
left a light in Crosbie Traynor’s room. The 
sleeper had not moved. Vin surveyed him calmly, 
wondering if he had ever seen the man before. 
Without his hat, Traynor seemed older. Vin¬ 
cenzo shrugged his shoulders as he turned away. 
The man was a total stranger to him. And still 
this mysterious sehor aroused the Basque’s curi¬ 
osity. 



24 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Vin had been on the desert too long not to have 
learned the wisdom of keeping his own counsel; 
but he took much pleasure from building roman¬ 
tic adventures around his guests. Some senors 
there had been who were in great haste. He had 
sped them on their way. But they were not for¬ 
gotten. 

This man was in no seeming haste, but some¬ 
thing about him sent delicious little chills racing 
up and down Vin’s spine. He would have 
spent more time on the matter had not Scanlon 
called to him at the moment. Johnny and the 
other Diamond-Bar warriors had arrived. In 
this democratic inn the proprietors—or to be ex¬ 
act, one of them—served the meals. His name 
was not Scanlon, that individual confining his 
efforts to the well-known cash register and the 
dealing of much poker. 

Jackson Kent, the big boss of the Diamond- 
Bar, came in before supper was over. He was a 
hawk-faced old man, silent as a rule. Hobe Fer¬ 
ris, his foreman, was with him. Pushing back 
the knife and fork set before him, the old man 



THE RED HAND 


25 


began stacking five, ten, and twenty dollar gold 
pieces into neat little piles. This was pay night. 

Some of the boys had not drawn a cent in three 
months. Hobe called off their names and the 
amounts due, and old man Kent counted it out to 
them as they filed past. The owner of the Dia¬ 
mond-Bar caressed his little stacks of gold pieces 
with his fingers as the piles grew smaller and 
smaller. He caught Scanlon eyeing him. 

“Might jest as well be payin’ him,” he muttered 
to Hobe, shaking his head regretfully. “What a 
waste of good money this is,” he added. “Won’t 
a one of ’em have a cent left time they git back 
to the ranch.” 

“You ain’t includin’ Johnny in that remark, be 
you?” Hobe demanded. “Ain’t one of the boys 
but owes him plenty cash right now. He’ll git 
more of their jack tonight.” 

“Huh!” the old man grunted. “Huh!” His 
contempt for Johnny’s genius was of long stand¬ 
ing. “Somebody ’ll git him jest like he gits these 
fools. Gamblin’s made a smart aleck out of him. 
Always figurin’ how things is goin’ to break; 
talkin’ his head off about the laws of chance. Jest 



2 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


spoiled a good hand, that’s all gamblin’s done 
to Johnny Dice. His mind ain’t on cattle no more. 
Damn it, Hobe, half the time I believe he don’t 
know whether he’s runnin’ sheep or steers.” 

Hobe was a good foreman, so he wisely agreed 
with the old man. He had been doing this for 
ten years; a time in which the Diamond-Bar had 
prospered. 

“Don’t let ’em git too drunk, Hobe,” Kent cau¬ 
tioned as he began his supper. “We got work to 
do to-morrow mornin’. The Lawrence boys will 
be here with their stuff by noon. We’ve got to git 
out of the way.” 

Hobe nodded as he strolled to the bar. “We’ll 
be in the clear, I reckon,” he drawled. “Hain’t 
had no trouble yit.” 

Hobe Ferris had long since forgotten the knack 
of smiling, but he almost remembered it as he 
thought of the old man’s concern for his men. 

“Old age certainly uses y’u up, don’t it?” he 
mused. “Yes, sir! Think of him worryin’ thata- 
way. If this keeps up, Miss Molly ’ll be bossin’ 
the brand ’fore long.” 

Ferris looked about for Johnny, but he and his 



THE RED HAND 


27 


pal, Tony Madeiras, had gone down the street. 
There were other places of chance in Standing 
Rock, and wise Johnny was off to a picking. 

Stuffy Tyler, who had raced through his supper 
and who had been busy ever since refreshing him¬ 
self at the bar, greeted his foreman with a hearty 
smack on the back. 

“Y’u again?” Hobe queried. 

“Little me, Hobe.” 

And then, without further ado, he roared that 
old range song, the first two lines of which run: 

“Oh, no, Jenny! 

What would yore father say?” 

Hobe knew what father said, and he was not 
minded to listen to his complaint this night. A 
wooden awning stretched across the walk in front 
of the hotel. There, the foreman found refuge 
from Stuffy’s bawling. 

The storm clouds which had been gathering to 
the north had circled round to the west; but they 
were nearer now. Far away, a mile or more, the 
steel rails of the Espee main line began to dance 



28 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


in the glow of a powerful headlight. A second 
later the light itself appeared. It was the freight 
that would roll away with those loaded cars of 
wool and those others filled with Diamond-Bar’s 
steers. 

For a brief moment the light seemed to pause 
there on the brink of the wide valley. Another 
second and it was dashing down upon Standing 
Rock. 

Its coming was dramatic, and it held Hobe’s 
attention. Suddenly the speeding circle of light 
was dimmed. It was rain. Not a drop had fallen, 
as yet, where he sat. But there, a quarter of a 
mile away, was the coming storm, racing the train 
into town. 

The engineer blew for the station before the 
rain began to spatter down in the dry dust of the 
street in front of the hotel. A few seconds later 
the big mogul engine, panting and puffing, came to 
a grinding stop fifteen feet from where Ferris 
sat. 

Inside the hotel things were humming. Scan¬ 
lon was playing cards; Vin was hammering a stac- 



THE RED HAND 


29 


cato tune on the cash register. Two partners 
could hardly have been more profitably engaged. 

A man skulking in the shadows across the 
tracks wondered at the big fellow sitting there on 
the porch, getting wet beyond a doubt, refraining 
from joining the sport of his pals. He had recog¬ 
nized the big man as Ferris. For the second 
time he wondered if the foreman by any chance 
might be watching him. 

The storm became heavier. The high wind in 
back of it began to send the rain with such force 
that the wooden awning no longer offered any pro¬ 
tection. Reluctantly, Hobe arose and went inside. 

The man, who had been waiting for him to 
go in, speedily crossed the tracks and made for 
the wool platform in back of the hotel. For a 
person of his age, he was spry. Picking up a wool 
hook, he noiselessly climbed over the tops of the 
loaded freighters until he was abreast one of the 
freight cars. 

With remarkable quickness he crawled to the 
top of it. Flat on his stomach he lay, peering into 
the darkness, trying to make certain that his 
movements were unwatched. The rain beat into 



30 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


his face so violently that he had to raise his hand 
to protect his eyes. 

His roving glance found nothing to disturb him. 
In the inky blackness the warehouse beside the 
platform bulked dark and forbidding. From its 
protecting shadows to where he lay now his path 
had not crossed any chance ray of light. 

Turning on his side, he surveyed the hotel. Cur¬ 
tains flapped in the second story windows; flicker¬ 
ing yellow light streamed through them. The 
wind eddied every now and then, bidding fair to 
extinguish the lamps Vin had lighted; but, with the 
persistency of oil wicks, they fluttered on. 

A thankful curse escaped the man as he ob¬ 
served the open windows. He wondered why Vin 
had not been up to close them. He knew the 
Basque’s habits. 

Far down the track at the shipping pens the 
train crew was switching the loaded cars. Ten 
minutes and they would be back here, moving this 
very car on which he lay. Ten minutes—it was 
enough. He had but to walk these five loaded 
wool cars to sweep the interior of the Palace Ho¬ 
tel. If the man he sought slept within—well, it 



THE RED HAND 


3 i 


wouldn’t take ten minutes to finish this little er¬ 
rand. 

From the edge of the big freight cars he could 
reach out and touch the wall of the hotel. Grasp¬ 
ing the steel hook with which he had provided 
himself, he began to move toward the lighted win¬ 
dows. 

Seconds slipped by as he came abreast the first 
window before he satisfied himself that the room 
was unoccupied. On hands and knees, drawing 
himself forward noiselessly, he crept on. An 
even longer time did he pause before passing the 
second window. He began to wonder if the man 
he sought had gone downstairs. He knew he had 
been in his room twenty minutes ago. Rather, 
he had believed as much, inasmuch as the man 
had not been in the bar. 

Subconsciously he became aware of the ap¬ 
proaching engine. It drove him forward. With 
half the caution he had used in surveying the other 
rooms, he stared into the third one. Something 
stuck in his throat as he beheld Crosbie Traynor 
sound asleep on the narrow bed, his head within a 
foot of the window. 



32 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Black hatred leaped in the man’s soul as he 
stared at the sleeping Traynor. This was going 
to be almost too easy! There had been moments 
in his approach to this spot in which his determi¬ 
nation to go through with his mission had wav¬ 
ered; his hands had shaken. 

That was gone now. He not only wanted to 
kill, but he found himself able to restrain his 
desire—to snuggle it to his heart, to wait for the 
propitious second, to do the deed cleverly. It was 
a revelation to the man. He had never suspected 
himself of such metal. 

He had drawn his gun, but he put it back. Wis¬ 
dom was guiding him. The long steel wool hook 
became his weapon. Reaching into the room with 
it, he picked Traynor’s belt and loaded holster 
from its perch on the chair beside the bed. Next 
he secured the hat the sleeping man had worn. 

The feel of it infuriated him. Savagely he 
ripped away the band and the gold charm snapped 
into it. He threw the hat back into the room. 
It would have pleased him to have hurled the little 
gold snake into the blackness, but that was the 
very sort of thing he had told himself a minute ago 



THE RED HAND 


33 


he had mastered. So the little charm went into 
his pocket. 

With the steel hook, he replaced Traynor’s 
gun belt, minus the gun. The engine, with its 
string of cattle cars, bumped into the line of cars 
on which he lay as he drew back from depositing 
the holster. For a second he wavered, fighting 
to regain his balance. He could hear the air 
shooting through the brakes. This car would be 
moving in another moment. A brakeman ran 
down alongside the train. Thanks to the rain 
he had not come across the tops! 

Some one shouted, a lantern waved, the train 
tensed as if to spring forward. A grinding, tear¬ 
ing sound, the lurching of the big car, and then the 
long-drawn, piercing whistle. 

It was for this he had waited. Reaching in 
through the window, he fired! 

Gloating, wholly evil, the murderer’s face 
gleamed in the streaming light. The train was 
moving—taking him away to safety. The sound 
of the shot has been lost, dimmed by the noise of 
the storm and the piercing blast of the whistle. 

He had played it to the last line! Cross Tray- 



34 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


nor had been erased. There’d be no coming back 
this time. He saw him half out of bed, his head 
on the floor—a gory relic of what had been a 
man. 

With an easy toss the killer dropped the dead 
man’s gun to the floor beside the body. That was 
the last, Anal touch! It made the slayer smile. 

“That’s that, I guess. Dead—and by his own 
gun, too! Cross, you’ll never come back now.” 

The train was gathering speed. The man flat¬ 
tened himself out. At the shipping pens the 
freight moved upon the main track. This slow¬ 
ing down was the awaited moment. Unseen, the 
man who had killed so easily slipped to the 
ground. The wool hook which had served him 
so well was tossed into the sage. Then, with sure 
step, he moved away in the night. This affair 
was a thing of the past. Who was there to 
question him? 



CHAPTER III. 


BY HIS OWN HAND. 

In the Palace bar all was merry. To the casual 
eye Scanlon might have appeared an exception, 
a frosted flower in a garden of flaming blooms; 
but even his moroseness was giving way to a sly 
smile. Four mysterious aces had but recently 
appeared in Stub Rawlings’s hand. The Scanlon 
bank roll had been severely injured. The source 
of that handful of cards had sorely troubled the 
red-headed boss of the Palace. He had become 
conscious of the storm raging without, but he 
had not so much as cast a glance at the streaming 
windows. Mr. Rawlings’s play was of greater 
interest. 

Lady Luck began to smile on the house. Scan¬ 
lon’s stack of blue chips increased to dizzy 
heights. He now held Mr. Rawlings’s aces. He 
played them much better than Stub had. In fact, 
so well did he maneuver that when the Diamond- 
35 


3 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Bar man called, the game was over as far as Stub 
was concerned. 

In the interval Scanlon flashed questioning eyes 
at the windows. Impatiently then he called to 
Vin: “The windows, Vin! Upstairs—shut the 
windows! This damn place ’ll be floatin’ away if 
you don’t.” 

Vin had been much the busier of the two. But 
that was as usual. He scowled now, though. 
Scanlon had been piling straws on the Basque’s 
back for some years. This threatened to be the 
one too many. To-morrow he would brood over 
any damage done to the hotel; but now he was 
angry only with Scanlon. “Madre de Dios!” he 
growled. “I do all these worries for theese firm. 
I scrub those floors, I mak’ those bed, I wash 
those window—by Chris’, I not close them.” 

“Aw, go on, Vinnie,” the boisterous Stuffy ex¬ 
claimed, “and be damn glad you ain’t livin’ in Aw- 
regon where they really got rain.” 

“That’s him!” Scanlon snorted. “Always tellin’ 
what he does round here. Jest workin’ yerself 
to death, ain’t yuh ? Humph ! If it wasn’t fer my 
brains we wouldn’t have no hotel.” He turned 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


37 


ba~k to his game. “Let ’er rain,’’ he roared. “I 
can swim.” 

This indifference to their mutual prosperity 
seared the Basque’s soul, but he rolled up his 
apron and started for the stairs, the air blue with 
his cursing. “By damn, I soon git my own hotel, 
you Irish gringo!” he hurled at his partner. 

The crowd tittered. Vin’s troubles were well 
understood. A moment later the Basque was back 
at the head of the stairs, white of face, hands 
shaking. 

“Socorro —help! Man ees keel heemself! I 
guess you come like hell now, Scanlon.” 

A hush fell upon the crowded barroom. Little 
noises were stilled until only the soft slip-slip of 
the cards running through Scanlon’s fingers broke 
the silence. Sudden, or mysterious, death was 
quite as chilling in Standing Rock as in more so¬ 
phisticated circles. 

The tension held for a brief spell. Hobe Ferris 
was the first to move. A moment later the crowd 
was pouring up the stairs. 

Traynor lay as the killer had left him—half 
out of bed, his gun near his lifeless hand. 



3» 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Scanlon bent over and examined the powder 
marks on the man’s forehead. “Never seen him 
before,” said he as he straightened up. “This is 
Stuffy’s room, Vin. How’d he git up here?” 

“Man came ’fore supper. Say he only want to 
sleep till the rain ees past. I say take theese 
room. What diff’rence eet make? Stuffy not go 
to baid to-night.” 

“You said somethin’, Vinnie. I ain’t ever goin’ 
to sleep in that bed.” 

“Dry up,” Hobe ordered. “We’d better git 
Doc Ritter. The doc and the old man are playin’ 
pinochle in his office. I saw ’em across the street. 
Run over and git him, Stub.” 

“Ain’t no need gittin’ a doctor,” Scanlon said 
positively. “This is a job for the coroner. The 
man’s as dead as a man can git. Gallup is the 
only one that can be of any use here.” 

“Yeh, I guess yo’re right, Scanlon. Fine lookin’ 
man, that. Wonder where he came from? Ain’t 
none of y’u boys ever seen him?” 

The crowd edged closer to the dead man; but 
no one seemed to remember him. 

“I’ll go for Gallup,” Stub offered. “He’ll sure 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


39 


be riled, gittin’ out of bed this time of the night. 
He goes to the hay with the chickens.” 

Stub’s going seemed to unloosen the crowd’s 
tongue. A dozen conjectures were voiced, and 
either denied or affirmed. Hobe brought them up, 
standing, by his discovery that no one had heard 
the shot which had killed the man. 

Scanlon turned on his partner, his mouth sag¬ 
ging a trifle. This thing had a queer draw to 
it. u Vin,” he argued, “you ain’t been out of the 
house. Didn’t you hear nothin’?” 

“I don’ hear anyt’ing. But theese sehor have 
foony look in hees eye. Mak’ me feel leetla chill 
in the back. I ask hees name; Caramba! He 
say he ees pretty well forget how to mak’ those 
writings in book.” 

“Sort of a mysterious gent, eh?” Scanlon asked, 
unpleasantly. 

“His name’s his own business,” Hobe flared 
back. “He might have been considerate enough 
to bump hisself off somewheres else; but I pretty 
well wouldn’t like to have anybody tellin’ me my 
name wa’n’t my own business.” 

The Diamond-Bar foreman rightly suspected 



40 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


that Scanlon’s annoyance was largely due to the 
fact that this affair would throw a wet blanket 
on the spending of money. He had been waiting 
some three months for this harvest. 

Gallup, the coroner, and Stub returned at this 
moment, and Scanlon was saved replying to the 
challenge in Hobe’s words. 

“What’s all the trouble?” Gallup demanded 
when he had entered the room. 

“It’s a job for you, Aaron,” Ferris replied. 
“Vin just found him a few minutes ago.” 

Gallup surveyed the dead man. 

“Humph! Did a good job, didn’t he? Guess 
he wouldn’t ’a’ been no deader in the mornin’. 
Gittin’ so I can’t git a good night’s sleep no more.” 

“Yo’re still drawin’ down yore wages reg’lar, 
ain’t yuh?” 

Old Aaron wiped his nose with the back of his 
hand at this query from Ferris. 

“Sorta reg’lar, Hobe,” Gallup answered with a 
wise little smile. “All due to me, though. Any 
man that can git fifteen hundred a year out of this 
county has earned it. If you folks ever start 
raisin’ my wages I’m goin’ to quit cold.” 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


4i 


While he talked, Gallup had been examining 
the dead man’s clothes and his gun. 

“This bird sure knew what he was doin’,” he 
muttered. “Ain’t a mark on him to identify him. 
Queer old gun he used. Well, we got men enough 
here. I guess I’ll swear you in and git done right 
now.” 

“We’re shy one, Aaron,” said Hobe. “Where’s 
Johnny? Ought to have him, he’s so up on these 
things.” 

“Him and Tony’s over to the Bud. They’ll be 
cornin’ soon as the news gits round.” 

“I got enough,” Aaron answered. “Johnny 
Dice ain’t law-abidin’ no more, anyhow.” 

Without further delay he began swearing them 
to the truth. Before he had finished the jingle 
of spur chains below caught Scanlon’s ear. 
“There’s someone now.” He went to the stairs 
and looked down. “Say, Johnny, you’re just in 
time. Need another man up here.” 

“Surest thing, old dear. What’s the limit?” 

“No limit. It’s a dead man. Gallup’s here.” 

“Do I know him?” demanded Johnny. 



42 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“No one’s ever clapped eyes on him ’cept Vin. 
But he don’t know nothin’, either.” 

Johnny had stopped to shake the rain from his 
hat. He turned now to Madeiras. “Come on, 
Tony. What you grumblin’ about?” 

Tony smiled. “I t’ought Scanlon say Gallup 
ees daid.” 

“You sound disappointed. What you cookin’ 
up for old Aaron?” 

“You forget my name, Johnny. I am a Ma¬ 
deiras. There ees lots of Madeiras.” 

“Still thinkin’ ’bout that, eh? You best tell 
your people not to borrow no money from Aaron. 
He’s a money hound, boy. I tell yuh he knows 
those gents on the greenbacks personal.” 

Tony tapped his chest. “Somet’ings we don’t 
forget, Johnny.” 

They were upstairs by this time. Aaron 
scowled at the Basque, but he chose him in pref¬ 
erence to Johnny. 

“One of you is all I need,” the old man mut¬ 
tered. Johnny was defeated, but not stilled. 

“They certainly keep you busy, don’t they, 
Aaron?” he asked provokingly. 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


43 


“That ’ll be enough talk from you, Johnny,” 
Gallup snapped. “If you want to stay in the room 
you keep still.” 

“Serves me right. The idea of a loose char¬ 
acter like me tryin’ to edge in on the law! Ain’t 
no hard feelin’s on my part, Aaron.” 

The old man ignored this sally. 

“Now, Yinnie, you tell us how you found this 
man,” he began in a more or less official manner. 

Vin explained how he had come up to close 
the windows, and so forth. 

“You hain’t touched nothin’?” 

“No, I call downstairs right away I see he ees 
daid.” 

“Humph! Nobody here knows this man, either, 
eh?” He cleared his throat importantly. 
“Well, gentlemen, there don’t seem to be no use 
wastin’ any more time. This man came here in¬ 
tendin’ to kill himself. It ain’t accidental-like 
for a man to go round without some mark of 
identification on him. He cut off every sign by 
which he might be traced. He’s got his watch and 
his money; so it wa’n’t robbery. And you all see 
where the powder burned his forehead. The 



44 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


gun’s there on the floor, just where he dropped 
it, too. Guess that makes the answer plain. Best 
you bring in the usual verdict; death by his own 
hand, this day and date. That agreed?” 

A muttered chorus of assenting grunts greeted 
him as he began making out the death certificate. 

“Say, Aaron,” Johnny interrupted. “There’s 
somethin’ under the bed. The man’s hat, I 
reckon.” 

Aaron glanced at him over the rims of his 
glasses. 

“Why don’t you wait a little longer? You ain’t 
tongue-tied, be yuh?” 

“You told me to shut up.” 

“Little good comes from tellin’ you.” 

The old man grunted as he crawled beneath the 
bed to recover the hat. 

“It’s a hat, all right,” he grumbled. “His hat, 
no doubt. Ain’t a mark on it, though.” He held 
it up for his jury to gaze at it. Jest about 
proves what I contend. The man wanted to die 
unidentified.” 

Tony Madeiras’s eyes bulged as he saw the hat 
Gallup held aloft. Pushing his way forward he 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


45 


took the hat in his hand. Gallup watched him 
closely. 

“Son of a gun !” Madeiras exclaimed slowly and 
turned to face his friends. “I change my min’ 
about those daid man. I know thees hat!” 

“What?” exclaimed Johnny. 

“Si. I know thees hat. Only t’ree, four days 
ago I see eet.” 

“Yeh!” There was open doubt of the Basque 
puncher’s word in the coroner’s voice. “You re¬ 
member a hat without a band or mark on it that 
you saw three or four days ago? It ain’t even a 
grown-up hat. It’s just a little runt of a thing. 
But you remember it, Madeiras?” 

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he answered the old 
man. “I said I remember theese hat.” 

“Well, you’ve got some memory, bosco.” 

Big Hobe put his hand upon Gallup’s shoulder 
as the coroner gave tongue to the western term of 
contempt for the Basque. 

“Listen here, Aaron. You won’t make no 
friends for yoreself with that kind of talk. This 
Diamond-Bar bunch don’t exactly like to hear 
Tony called a bosco. It ain’t good for the health 



46 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


to say it more than once. You git that? Now if 
Tony allows he remembers that hat it ain’t up to 
you to call* him a liar.” 

“That’s all right, Hobe,” Tony smiled. “May¬ 
be some time he find out my people have pretty 
damn good memory. What he thinks, I don’t 
care. But for you, Hobe: last Monday I was on 
the North Fork. Evening time I come down to 
the river. Theese man be there. He have plenty 
hair on hees face then. Big whiskers. He spik 
Spanish. Ask lots of question. Me, I ask some, 
too. He come long ways theese man.” 

“You find out his name?” 

“Tony Madeiras don’ ask man hees name.” 

“Good for you, Tony,” Johnny called. “It 
ain’t bein’ done.” 

Gallup turned on Johnny with face flaming. 

“If I hear any more talk from you, out you go. 
This is your crowd, but the law is the law, and I 
ain’t goin’ to stand no impudence from you.” 

Doc Ritter and Jackson Kent came in as Gallup 
admonished Johnny. The coroner nodded to Kent. 

“Maybe you can put some sense into him,” he 
said, pointing to Johnny Dice. 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


47 


“What’s the matter, Johnny?” asked Kent. 
“We just heard a man had killed himself up 
here.” 

“Nothin’ the matter with me. Gallup’s runnin’ 
things here. And he ain’t makin’ no hit with it, 
either. Hobe had to call him a minute ago.” 

“Mr. Gallup’s a good man, boys. Don’t rear 
and tear too much. Jest what is wrong, Aaron?” 

When Gallup had finished explaining; the Dia¬ 
mond-Bar owner did his best to restore harmony. 

“Now you go on, Tony, and tell the coroner 
what you know,” he said, pleadingly. “We don’t 
want no run-in with the law.” 

“That’s sense,” Gallup seconded. “If you saw 
this man, and talked with him, tell us what he 
said.” 

“Well, he say—er—he say-” Johnny Dice 

was coughing so violently that Tony could not go 
on. The Basque turned on his pal questioningly. 
Johnny was bent nearly double; but Tony caught 
the wink and the slight shake of the head which' 
were meant for him. He started to speak again: 

“Well, he say how ees the cattle? How ees 
the water? How ees the sheep? How ees-” 





48 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“I don’t care about that,” Gallup growled. 
“Did he say anythin’ that has any bearin’ on this 
case? We ain’t interested in anythin’ else.” 

“No—I guess not. All he say ees how ees 
these, how ees that?” 

“Then all this talk’s been for nothin’. What 
do you say, men? Are you satisfied it’s suicide or 
not? Raise your hands if you are.” 

Tony saw that Johnny was telling him to say 
yes. When the Basque’s hand went up, Gallup 
turned to Doc Ritter. 

“Here’s your papers, doc. Take the body any 
time you want to.” 

Aaron scrawled his signature and handed the 
certificate to the town’s doctor and undertaker. 

Gallup read aloud: 

“Party unknown. Died this 4th of October by his 
own hand; no reason given. The foregoing being the 
sworn verdict of the jury convened by me on this day 
and date. 

“(Signed) Aaron Gallup, 
“Coroner of Shoshone County, State of Nevada.” 

Aaron paused to glance at his listeners. “There 
it is, gentlemen; in my own hand.” He smiled 



BY HIS OWN HAND 


49 


superiorly. “Somebody count the man’s money 
and we’ll adjourn.” 

He glanced at Kent, but the old man was star¬ 
ing at the body. 

“You oblige me, Jackson?” Gallup asked. 

“No,” he muttered; “let Doc do it. I don’t 
fancy counting a dead man’s money.” 

Old Aaron smiled. “All right,” he drawled pa¬ 
tiently. “Guess Doc ain’t so finicky. He knows 
that dead men don’t hurt no one.” 



CHAPTER IV. 


FOOT-LOOSE. 

The crowd began trooping downstairs as Doc 
put the body back on the bed and covered it. 
Johnny Dice shook his head as he turned to fol¬ 
low his friends. There was something wrong 
about this affair. He felt it long before he was 
able to put his fingers on anything definitely sus¬ 
picious. His tilt with Gallup was of no conse¬ 
quence. The old man disliked him because he re¬ 
fused to take the coroner seriously. And then, 
too, Johnny and Tony had been stringing along 
for some years. Aaron had foreclosed a small 
mortgage on one of Tony's relatives. That made 
bad blood between them. 

Johnny's suspicions crystallized as Doc lifted 
the body. He saw a bit of evidence that no man 
on earth could contradict. His nerves began to 
tingle. This man had not killed himself! 

Gallup caught the grim smile on Johnny’s face. 

50 


FOOT-LOOSE 


5i 


‘‘What you waitin’ for?” he asked. 

Johnny continued to smile provokingly. “Ain’t 
no one sittin’ up for you at home, is there, 
Aaron?” 

The old man’s face went scarlet at this con¬ 
tinued heckling. 

“By God,” he cried, “I wisht I was twenty years 
younger! You’d stop your insolence.” 

“That’s so, Aaron. I forgot that. I’m sorry.” 

Johnny meant it, too. The old man was an 
almost helpless target. Johnny stooped to hide 
his chagrin and picked a little curl of wool from 
the floor. 

The action had been unpremeditated, but as his 
fingers closed upon the tuft of wool it became 
charged with importance. Too late. Johnny 
tried to palm it. Aaron saw him. 

“What’s that you’re pickin’ up?” he demanded. 

“A piece of the golden fleece—I mean the ere-: 
osoted fleece,” Johnny said with a laugh. “Want 
it?” 

“ ’Course not, you idiot.” 

“You’d better go downstairs, Johnny,” Kent 
advised. “You and Gallup remind me of a pair of 



52 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


clawin’ cats. If you ain’t got no respect for old 
age, you ought to have for the law, and them 
that represents it.” 

Something in Kent’s tone made Johnny resent 
this advice. 

“Respect for the law?” he asked. “I’m plumb 
hostile to law when it gits as stupid as this. I 
pick up that bit of wool, and what does it mean to 
him? Nothin’! Well, it ought to.” 

“How so?” Gallup snapped. 

“There ain’t been no sheepman in here to-night. 
It’s wet outside. The wind ain’t blowin’ wet wool 
into this room. How’d that piece of fleece git 
here? And while I’m about it, no one has proved 
to me that this gent killed hisself. I could have 
slipped up here and bumped him off while he 
slept, held the gun close enough to singe hair, too. 
Droppin’ it on the floor as I went out wouldn’t 
take no brains at all.” 

“What you think don’t interest me,” old Aaron 
said hotly. “Vin was downstairs. He’d have 
known if any one came up here.” 

“You run along, Johnny,” Kent again urged. 

“Somehow I just don’t like bein’ told to mind 



FOOT-LOOSE 


53 


my own business thataway,” Johnny flared, losing 
his own temper. “I want to tell Doc and the rest 
of you that that man couldn’t have killed hisself— 
leastwise, not like this.” 

“Couldn’t?” Doc Ritter echoed. 

“That’s what I said—couldn’t! That bird was 
a left-handed gent. Left-handed men ain’t 
shootin’ themselves in the right temple! ‘By his 
own hand’!” Johnny repeated Gallup’s words 
with fine contempt. “Oh, hell! Are you fools or 
what? This man was murdered—shot down in 
cold blood!” 

“Ain’t nobody but a smart aleck like you tellin’ 
that a dead man was left-handed,” the coroner 
roared. 

“Oh, you didn’t know he was left-handed, 
then?” Johnny sneered. “You wouldn’t! You 
never know! Coroners just don’t. They’re the 
lowest form of political infamy. All I got to know 
about a man is that he’s hired out to do a job of 
coronering to know that there ain’t no help for 
him.” 

Gallup’s teeth fairly chattered with rage. Face 



54 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


working convulsively, he turned to the body as 
Johnny pointed to it. 

“Look at the man’s pants, you old mossback!’ , 
Johnny exclaimed, excitedly. “Ain’t they all wore 
shiny on the left side just below the pocket? 
Nothing but the rubbin’ of his holster against that 
leg did that. And that worn-out place beside the 
pocket—the butt of his gun made that! Roll 
him over, Ritter, and let this poor old imbecile 
have a good look.” 

Doc rolled the body so that they could see if 
this was so. Gallup’s face was red with rage. 
Was this upstart cow-puncher going to cheapen 
him and make his work ridiculous? Election 
wasn’t so far away, said Ritter’s eyes. Gallup 
caught the thought. 

Old Kent was wringing his hands. Hobe and 
Tony said nothing, but their set faces were proof 
enough that Johnny Dice had dropped a bomb¬ 
shell. 

No one seemed willing to break the silence 
which had crept over them. It grew so still that 
Gallup’s little throat noises sounded loud and 



FOOT-LOOSE 


55 


ominous. He was weighing matters quite beyond 
the present trouble with Johnny. 

‘‘Well, Johnny,” he said at last in a tone very 
different from the one he had previously used, 
“there may be sense in your contention. No one 
can say what was so with a dead man and be sure 
of it. I never seen him wearin’ a gun; you never 
seen him, either. Tell me why anybody’d want 
to kill him. Sure wasn’t robbery.” 

“Might have been robbery,” Johnny replied. 
“Forty-six dollars ain’t no money for a man to 
have on him in this country. It would have been 
a fine stall to have taken his roll and left that 
measly forty-six. And then, too, maybe some¬ 
body figured he had somethin’ on them. Might 
be a dozen reasons.” 

“You don’t suspect any one, do you, Johnny?” 
Doc asked. 

“You don’t have to suspect somebody to prove 
that murder’s been done.” 

“Yes, Johnny,” Gallup cut in, “but you ain’t 
proved that murder’s been committed. You talk 
a lot, but it’s all guesswork.” 

“Wouldn’t be guesswork very long with me.” 



56 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“You git that idea out of yore head,” Kent 
warned. “If yo’re workin’ for me you won’t have 
no time to go runnin’ around doin’ business the 
county pays some one else to do.” 

Hobe saw the insurgent answer leaping to John¬ 
ny’s lips and he tried to stop it but he was too late. 

“If you mean I’ve got the choice of bein’ fired 
or lettin’ somebody else do my thinkin’ for me— 
well, then, I’m fired.” 

“Yore words don’t surprise me,” Kent cried. 
“I told Hobe this evenin’ that you’d bear 
watchin’.” 

“That’s the blow-off,” Johnny said, angrily. 
“Ridin’ for you ain’t the thing I’m fondest of.” 

“Yo’re talkin’ big now; you got a few dollars 
in yore pocket. You’ll go busted quick enough. 
Takes money to mind other folks’ business.” 

“You’re as bad as he is, Jackson,” Ritter in¬ 
terrupted. “I ain’t so sure the boy isn’t right. If 
you need any money, Johnny, you let me know.” 

This offer of assistance made Gallup chortle. 

“I won’t want any money, Doc,” drawled 
Johnny. “A good horse and a pair of well-oiled 



FOOT-LOOSE 


57 


guns are all I’ll need. I’m goin’ to find out who 
killed this man. How about it, Tony?” 

“Eef you say so, Johnny, she’s so wit’ me.” 

“Go to it, you young fool!” Aaron managed to 
articulate. “Kelsey’s in Reno. He’ll be back 
next week. Go see him! Maybe he’ll make you 
special investigator for this county.” 

“I don’t have to see no prosecutin’ attorney!” 
Johnny’s words clicked off his tongue. “What I 
do, I’ll do on my own. If this man was mur¬ 
dered—by God, I’m goin’ to find out who killed 
him! It ’ll be time enough to talk of seein’ Kelsey 
then!” 



CHAPTER V. 


THE FIRST CLEW. 

Scanlon’s fear that the night was ruined as far 
as he was concerned proved well founded. Gallup 
paused to buy himself a drink. Kent and his fore¬ 
man came down as the coroner went out. Hobe’s 
face was glum. The old man’s run-in with Johnny 
and his pal was only another evidence of his com¬ 
ing decay. For all of his fault, Johnny was a good 
man, and a better vaquero than Madeiras was not 
to be found this side of the Humboldt. Kent 
might figure that, come spring, they would be back 
asking to be taken on again. Hobe knew better 
than this. Johnny’s pride more than matched his 
temper. 

Times there had been in the past when old Jack- 
son Kent had not balked at winking an eye at the 
law. This present deference to it nettled Hobe. 
The Diamond-Bar was big and powerful enough 
to lay down its own law. No one more than Fer- 
58 


THE FIRST CLEW 


59 


ris had built up its traditions. A few men there 
are like him who can become so much a part of 
their work that a subconscious sense of ownership 
of the tools with which they toil takes possession 
of them. It was that way with Hobe. He was 
the Diamond-Bar. 

Kent’s daughter, Molly, had healed some pre¬ 
vious sore spots between the foreman and the old 
man, but this arbitrary handling of the Diamond- 
Bar men was poaching on authority long since held 
by the foreman. Kent would have been hard put 
to have found a way to hurt the man more. 

“You better git the boys to bed,” the old man 
said. 

Hobe’s face was sullen. 

“Yes, sir.” It was the first time in years that 
Hobe had “sirred” the boss. Kent looked at him 
sharply, feeling the implied unfriendliness. He 
had the good sense, though, to say nothing. 

Five minutes later the barroom was clear of 
Diamond-Bar men. Stuffy Tyler had fallen asleep, 
but big Hobe easily picked him up, and throwing 
him over his shoulder as if the man were a sack 
of meal, carried him to his bed. 



6o 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Doc Ritter brought in a stretcher, and with the 
aid of Johnny and Tony, the dead man was car¬ 
ried to Ritter’s undertaking parlor. 

Scanlon and Vin faced each other. * 

“Beats hell, don’t it,” the former asked sullenly, 
“how one man can put a town to bed? You’d 
almost think we knew the man—cornin’ in here 
and dyin’ thata-way. You know what we stand 
to lose, don’t you?” , 

“We don’ lose not’in’, Scanlon. Money? We 
get heem by an’ by. Next election, though, we 
lose somet’ing.” 

“Gallup, eh? Maybe so. The man ain’t got 
no ideas. You ’tend to the lights and close up, 
Vin. I’m dead tired. I’m goin’ to bed.” 

“Let ’em burn,” the Basque snapped. “I can 
swim!” 

Scanlon smiled as he recognized his own words 
of the early evening. But Vinnie put out the 
lights. 

For half an hour after the hotel was in dark¬ 
ness, Johnny and Tony sat in front of the Palace. 
The rain was over. 

“You go to baid, Johnny?” Tony asked. 



THE FIRST CLEW 


61 

“No. I couldn’t sleep. Tell me again just 
what that man said to you that night on the North 
Fork.” 

The big Basque smiled. He had already told 
his story twice. 

“I jus’ remember I look at hees hat, and he 
smile. That’s fonny hat, you know—so small 
brim, great beeg crown. No mens wear hats like 
those now. He geeve it to me for tak’ good look. 
The ban’ on eet is ver-ry fine. ‘Yes,’ he say, 
‘that’s Indian ban’. Moqui Indian mak’ those 
ban’. Mak’ eet out of horsehair.’ 

“But more fonny that those hat is little green 
snake he have fasten on that ban’. That snake 
have green eyes. Eet’s a gold snake, too. ‘Press 
the haid of that snake,’ he say. For Dios, that 
snake fall into my han.’ ‘That’s beeg medicine,’ 
he say, ‘those snake. Been on that hat forty 
year!’ 

“ ‘Why you wear those old hat?’ I ask. He 
tell me; but he don’ smile. ‘Plenty hats like 
theese, long time ago in Santa Fe and Tombstone/ 
he say. ‘Some day I fin’ the man what owns theese 
hat. He’ll remember eet!’” 



6 2 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Yuh can’t git away from it, Tony,” Johnny 
exclaimed. “He was lookin’ for somebody, and 
that somebody got him. Horsehair hat-bands 
ain’t uncommon. He wouldn’t have ripped it off 
his hat to keep folks from rememberin’ it. That 
Indian snake was what he’d have hid and he’d 
have unsnapped it and put it in his pants. But it’s 
against all sense to believe that he took off even 
the snake. He wanted to be recognized.” 

Johnny slapped his knee emphatically. “I tell 
you,” he declared, “the man what killed him tore 
off that band!” 

Tony shrugged his shoulders. “Quien sabe!” 
he muttered. 

Johnny was still for a minute. Then suddenly: 
“Say! That man had a horse when he came here. 
He didn’t walk into town.” 

“Diga, Johnny! He have beeg horse—Spanish 
horse.” 

“Come on! I’m goin’ to find him. The man 
must have had a bed-roll or a saddle-bag. We’ll 
have a look-see.” 

The places in Standing Rock where a man 
might stable a horse were not so numerous that 



THE FIRST CLEW 


63 


it took Johnny and Tony any great time to find 
the big stallion. He was in Ed Brackett’s barn. 

It was Johnny’s intention to become possessed 
of the man’s personal effects if any there should 
be. For this very excellent reason he entered the 
barn without disturbing Brackett. 

Tony immediately recognized the big horse. 
The stallion eyed them nervously. A flow of 
liquid Spanish from the Basque reassured the 
horse. Johnny searched the pegs along the wall 
for the missing roll. A low word to Tony told the 
Basque that he had found what they came for. 

“Come on,’’ came the whisper. “We’ll drift 
back to the hotel and look this stuff over.” 

In their little room in the Palace they sorted 
out the man’s belongings—shirts, socks, handker¬ 
chiefs, and a little bag containing a sewing kit and 
odds and ends a lone man might be expected to 
carry. 

“Not much here,” Johnny said slowly. “Seems 
like a man would carry somethin’ personal. Any¬ 
ways, it proves he didn’t hide that hat-band or 
Indian luck piece. It’d be here if he had.” 

Tony grunted in answer. Johnny picked up a 



6 4 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


shirt to stuff it back into the leather bag. As he 
did so a black wallet slipped out and fell upon the 
bed. 

“There’s somet’in’,” the Basque exclaimed. 

“Four hundred dollars! He wasn’t robbed, 
Tony! And here’s a picture—a kid’s picture!” 

Tony crowded close to look at it. 

“That’s too bad,” muttered Johnny. “Thought 
maybe I might recognize it. That was hopin’ for 
too much. But it ’ll help some day. That’s a 
clew! I’ll just freeze on to it.” 

Putting the small photograph into his pocket, 
he proceeded to replace the other things in the 
old saddlebag. Tony watched him for several 
minutes. The Basque’s face showed dismay. At 
times he could not understand his gringo friend. 
He felt ignored now. Johnny caught the signs of 
distress. 

“But, Tony, you didn’t know the kid. You 
was back in that dear Spain when that little photo 
was snapped. Muchachito, you go to bed. To¬ 
morrow we got plenty work to do. I got a clew 


now. 



THE FIRST CLEW 


65 


“Cle\y? Damn my soul, Johnny, you talk like 
deeteckteeve.” 

“Companero, you string along with me. We’re 
goin’ to see the sights before this thing’s over.” 

Tony went to sleep; not so Johnny. He brought 
forth the photograph which he had found, and 
sat for half an hour studying it; trying to whip 
his mind into finding some likeness in it to some 
one he knew. 

“That’s all I got,” he murmured. “It’s got to 
tell me somethin’.” 

He placed the picture on the bed before him, 
and bent over it, his eyes screwed into a squint. 
Minutes slipped by unnoticed. Something 
vaguely reminiscent about the photograph began 
to torture him. Try as he would, he could not 
say what it was that was playing a sort of mental 
hide and go seek with him. At times he wondered 
if he were not the prey of his own desires. And 
yet, a little voice persisted within him. There 
was something here that stirred memories! 

When it came to him, it came suddenly. His 
face went white. 



66 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“My God!” he whispered, clutching the pic¬ 
ture. “The thing around that kid’s neck is the 
locket Molly Kent wears!” 

From staring at the picture he turned to the 
sleeping Tony. He even started to arouse him, 
but thought better of it. 

“No,” he said to himself. “I’ll keep this se¬ 
cret. This is a clew!” 

He tried to argue that the child in the picture 
bore some resemblance to Kent’s daughter; but 
he could not convince himself. 

“This picture might be a boy’s, for all that,” 
he muttered. “Looks somethin’ like the dead 
man, too.” 

He gave up puzzling his brain over it, and kick¬ 
ing off his boots, made ready for bed. The 
locket in the picture and the one Molly w r ore were 
the same. That was enough. How she came 
by it, he’d try to learn to-morrow. Maybe old 
Jackson had bought it for her. 

Jackson Kent! That started a new line of 
thought. Johnny became wide awake. Kent had 
iired him; the old man had seemed deaf to certain 



THE FIRST CLEW 


67 


facts; and now this locket of Molly’s! A broad¬ 
side struck Johnny Dice. 

“My God!” he exclaimed loud enough to wake 
up his pal. “Is that why he shut me up? Did 
Jackson Kent kill that man?” 



CHAPTER VI. 


OUTSIDE THE LAW. 

Johnny Dice lay abed the following morning 
until half past seven o’clock, shamelessly reveling 
in his freedom from toil. At five Hobe and the 
others, Tony included, had trooped down to 
breakfast. Fifteen minutes later the Diamond- 
Bar boys had headed for the shipping pens to 
resume where they had left off the previous eve¬ 
ning. Tony, helpless with nothing to do, waited 
with growing impatience for the appearance of 
the prodigal. 

Specters of doubt, tantalizing ghosts of inde¬ 
cision troubled the sleeping Mr. Dice. His pug¬ 
nacious face wore a frown. Every now and then 
his mouth would straighten and his jaw would 
shoot out to an alarming prominence. Maybe a 
dramatic gesture with his hand would follow. 
Johnny seemed continually to lose the decision in 
this silent fighting, for he would try it first on one 

side and then on the other. 

68 


OUTSIDE THE LAW 


69 


Big Hobe had always found a bucketful of cold 
water a most excellent antidote for these symp¬ 
toms; but Johnny was suffering from more than 
just too much sleep. He had closed his eyes con¬ 
vinced that he could put his hand on the guilty 
man. His deductions had been honest, sensible. 
Old man Kent was as guilty! Subconsciously, 
doubt had crept into his mind. 

Jackson Kent had become such a meek, pain¬ 
fully righteous person these last few years that 
he seemed to lack the spinal stiffening a killer 
must possess. If he had been accused of taking 
nickels out of the collection box, one might have 
believed it of him; but murder? No! You d 
have to have the reason for the crime, the whole, 
inside story of it before you could go out and 
expect men to believe you. Jackson Kent was a 
rich man, a figure of some importance in Sho¬ 
shone County politics. 

“Yes, we grant all that,” whispered perverse 
little fiends in Johnny’s ear, “but isn’t it men like 
Kent who, free from popular suspicion, commit 
crimes of this sort? Wasn’t his position in the 
county, his very respectability his best safeguard? 



7° 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Wild-eyed, Johnny sat up suddenly, his red 
head shaking doggedly. He looked about the 
room as if searching for the little devils that had 
romped through his sleep. 

A grunt and an indulgent smile followed as he 
threw back the covers. “I’m sufferin’ from that 
psychic stuff,” he muttered. “Or is it food I 
need?” 

His watch in his hands, he went to the door 
and called down to Vin: “Hey, Vin! Give me 
food or give me death! I’ll be there muy pronto, 
muchachito” 

Vinnie had a steaming breakfast on the table 
when Johnny entered the dining room. “By 
Chris’, Johnny, you sleep lak’ meel-li-on-aire. 
How you theenk I run theese bus’ness, breakfuss 
h’eight o’clock?” 

“Aw, go on, you old dude!” Johnny laughed. 
“I’ll be borrowin’ money from you before I git 
through.” 

It was only talk on Johnny’s part, but the 
Basque chose to take it seriously. 

“That’s all right wit’ me, Johnny.” Vin shook 
his head solemnly. “I don’ refuse you, Johnny.” 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


7i 


“Oh, how sweet those words, ‘I will lend you,’ ” 
Johnny said airily. “But not yet you won’t, 
senor. Little Johnny has plenty dinero. Is the 
old man gone?” 

“Si! Hobe and heem go half past five. Leetle 
while ago the old man come back alone an’ tak’ 
the train for Winnemucca.” 

“Winnemucca?” Johnny Dice’s eyebrows 
lifted. Was Kent running away? 

Hobe entered then to square the Diamond-Bar 
debt with the hotel. The barroom was deserted, 
and the foreman, peeking into the dining room, 
saw Johnny and Vin. He came in and settled him¬ 
self in a chair opposite the former. 

“Go and figure up yore bill, Vinnie,” he said to 
the Basque. When Vin had left, Hobe turned his 
inquisitive eyes to Johnny. “Last night was a 
terrible bust round here, wa’n’t it?” 

“It’s all jake with me, Hobe. Don’t you fret.” 

Ferris got up and walked back and forth a step 
or two, glum, his chin on his chest. “I reckon it 
ain’t all right with me, though. I ain’t exactly 
what you’d call a straw boss with this outfit—not 



72 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


after all these years. If it wa’n’t for the girl I’d 
ask for my time.” 

Hobe propped back into his chair. 

“Reckon I couldn’t face her, though. She 
knows he’s slippin’.” 

Johnny’s knife and fork came down slowly, a 
peculiar dryness creeping into his throat as he 
thought of Molly Kent. He had forgotten her! 
Yet others, Hobe for instance, found time to 
think of her and consider her happiness. 

And Johnny had been waiting only for Ferris 
to finish, to voice his suspicion of the old man. 

The thought sent a shiver through him. What¬ 
ever old Kent had done, he was still Molly’s fa¬ 
ther. Johnny shook his head as he asked himself 
if he could send her daddy down to Carson to be 
hanged. He’d damn himself for a meddling fool 
before he’d be a party to that. Molly Kent meant 
too much to the old Daimond-Bar hands. No 
wonder Hobe thought of her. Hadn’t he taught 
her all the things a girl living on the range must 
know—riding, shooting, man-sense, and all the 
rest of it? 

Why, hadn’t he—Johnny Dice—broken her 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


73 


first pony? Hadn’t he even tried to persuade 
Hobe into letting him show her how to ride that 
little coffee cooler? And there had been parties, 
too, at the big house; a girl’s pride in the day’s 
work well done; implicit faith in the Diamond- 
Bar’s ability to come through in a pinch. 

Cold sweat stood on Johnny’s brow as he asked 
himself if he could fail a girl like her. His voice 
was husky as he spoke to Ferris. 

“Where’s the old man?” 

Hobe answered without looking up. “Gone to 
Winnemucca. Coming back to the ranch from 
there.” 

Nothing more was said for a minute or two. 
Yin called to Hobe, then, and Ferris pushed back 
his chair. 

“Might as well pay up and go back to the cars,” 
he said dolefully. “We’ll be through, come 
noon.” 

Johnny got to his feet with the foreman. 

“Listen, Hobe,” he said, “did I make a fool of 
myself last night, lightin’ into the old man thata- 
way ?” 

Hobe rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “N-o-o-o,” 



74 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


he drawled. “One was bad as the other. He 
surprised me. He’d been havin’ such a good time 
with Doc all evenin’.” 

“Huh? Doin’ what?” 

Johnny’s face was white with an emotion that 
Ferris was at a loss to understand. 

“Playin’ pinochle. I went outside to sit down 
after supper. The old man came out with me, 
and went across to Doc’s place. I sat out in front 
till the freight pulled up. Rain drove me in. Doc 
and him was still at it. I could see ’em through 
the window. I could tell he w T as winnin’.” 

Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. That his 
solution of last night’s murder was knocked flat 
caused no rancor in his heart. Thank God, he had 
not given voice to his thoughts. Gallup would 
have laughed him out of town. 

Ferris, far shrewder than he looked, had caught 
the signs of the anxiety which possessed Johnny. 
“Say, Johnny,” he inquired, “just what is it that 
y’u ain’t sayin’ ?” 

Johnny winced at this directness, but he an¬ 
swered with a question seemingly irrelevant to it. 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


75 


“Did you touch that dead man last night, 
Hobe?” 

Ferris cocked his head. “Of course,” he said. 

“Wasn’t the body warm?” 

“Sure was. The man hadn’t been dead over 
thirty minutes.” 

“That’s the way I figured it.” 

If the man had been dead only half an hour 
and Hobe had been watching the old man during 
that very time, then to a certainty Jackson Kent 
had had no hand in the killing. 

Still there was something unsaid between them. 
Ferris felt it. He put his hand on Johnny’s 
shoulder as they started for the door. Johnny 
stopped in his tracks. A flash of his eyes and the 
big man had his answer. 

“Johnny!” he gasped. “No! My God, no! 
The old man didn’t do that!” 

“Did I say so?” Johnny demanded vehemently. 

“No. But y’u were thinkin’ it. Up in the 
room last night it was my idea, too. I wondered 
if y’d suspect him.” 

Johnny could afford to be belligerent now. 

“You bet I did. I suspect every man in this 



7 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


town until I prove to myself that he’s innocent. 
That it wasn’t him, is all right with me. I 
couldn’t have gone after Molly Kent’s dad. There 
ain’t no one else in this town with any strings on 
him as far as I’m concerned. I’ll git the man.” 

Hobe knew this was not mere talk. 

“What are y’u goin’ to do now?” 

“Git busy! Like as not I’ll drift out to the 
ranch some time to-day and git my stuff. My 
address is where I hang my hat until I’ve put this 
puzzle together.” 

Calling the waiting Tony, the two men went 
down the street. 

“You forget anythin’ I said last night, Tony,” 
Johnny advised the Basque. “It’s out—complete. 
Git that!” 

The direction in which they were going made 
Tony ask their destination. 

“I’m goin’ to have a talk with Brackett. Let 
me do the palaverin’.” 

The liveryman had not yet seen the corpse, so 
Johnny’s statement that the big stallion belonged 
to the dead man was a surprise to Brackett. 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


77 


“Do you mind, Ed, if I have a look at the 
horse?” Johnny asked. 

“No harm in that,” Brackett answered. “No¬ 
body know his name, you say?” 

“Total stranger, Ed. There might be some 
mark or somethin’ on his stuff.” 

This brief minute of importance appealed to 
Ed, and the three men began searching for some 
mark of identification. The missing saddlebag 
escaped Brackett’s attention. 

The search was a barren one, bed-roll, saddle 
and slicker being without any tell-tale mark. The 
stallion’s brand, a circle-dagger, had been over¬ 
burned years ago. 

“Didn’t he have nothin’ up to the hotel with 
him?” Ed asked. “Man would have an extra 
shirt and socks.” 

“Wasn’t a thing up there, Ed,” Johnny said 
truthfully. “Guess we can give up lookin’ here.” 

When they had left the stable Johnny asked 
the Basque: 

“Did you git what I found?” 

“No. Me, I get not’ing.” 

Johnny smiled. 



78 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“The silver buttons on the bridle,” he explained. 
“Both of them marked alike—C. T. I never 
heard of no brand like that. It’s his initials. 
That’s somethin’ else to keep under your hat. 
That’s a real clew.” 

“How you know, pleece, those t’ing ees clew?” 

“Know? You don’t have to know. A clew is 
just a clew. All we’ve got to do is to keep on 
gittin’ them. We’re goin’ to saddle up and fan it 
out to the ranch and git our stuff. I’m through 
lookin’ for evidence round here. If you saw that 
man on the North Fork three days ago, I just 
about know the way he took into town. He must 
have got on the North Fork from the west. If 
he did, he came through Winnemucca. Ain’t no 
other way he could have got out of the hills. I’m 
goin’ down to old Winnemuc and prospect 
around.” 

“Cuidado!” Tony whispered. “Here comes 
Gallup.” 

They were almost in front of Aaron’s house 
before they came abreast of him. The coroner’s 
eyes were snapping. Even his mustache seemed 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


79 


to stand at attention, bristling as it were with 
anger. 

“Well, I suppose you little boys have been 
havin’ your fun this mornin’.” He snickered con¬ 
temptuously. “You take a word of advice from 
me, Johnny Dice—a fool and his money soon 
depart!” 

“Say, Aaron, that’s not bad. Not bad at all, 
but you paste this in your hat, and let it stick to 
your rickety old slats—I go, oh, yes, but only to 
return. In other words, I’ll be back! And some¬ 
body’s goin’ to burn the frijoles when I do.” 
Johnny’s voice became velvety as he added: “And 
there ain’t no one in this little old town makin’ me 
go, either, senor.” 

“No?” Gallup inquired with sarcastic polite¬ 
ness. “Don’t you be too sure about that.” 

Tony motioned to Johnny to come along, but 
the boy pushed him aside. “Suppose you en¬ 
lighten me on that last remark,” he said to Gallup. 

Aaron did not dodge the issue. “With pleas¬ 
ure ! You git out of town by noon or there’ll be a 
warrant out for your arrest for disturbin’ the 



8o 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


peace. You can’t make a fool out of me and git 
away with it.” 

Tony’s jaw set at the word arrest. Johnny met 
the threat with a smile, but he did not take Gal¬ 
lup’s words as easily as he appeared to take them. 

“You can’t shut me up any other way,” he 
explained for the coroner’s benefit, “so you’re 
goin’ to have Roddy throw me in jail, eh? You 
politicians certainly stick together, don’t you? I’d 
like to see that scarecrow sheriff go up against a 
real man.” 

“If you flatter yourself that you’re one, you 
hang around.” 

It was on Johnny’s tongue to make a fitting 
retort, to dare Gallup to bring up his reserves, 
but wisdom of a sort checked the hot words. He 
had set himself to do a certain thing. Shooting it 
out with Jasper Roddy would not accomplish it. 

Tony’s eyes were smiling now—a smile as guile¬ 
ful as his race was old. That Basque smile under 
fire is one of the little ways by which the children 
of the far Pyrenees announce that they are not 
Mexican. That smile is something to consider if 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


you are involved personally. Johnny caught it 
and understood. 

Gallup was waiting for an answer. Johnny 
found one of little truth, but it caught old Aaron. 

“Other business, my dear Mr. Gallup, forbids 
my doin’ battle with you and yours to-day. But 
some other day, dear sir!” Johnny’s tone was too 
extravagantly polite. “That little gun-play last 
evenin’ still absorbs my attention, Aaron. I could 
almost tell you who killed that man.” 

The seriousness with which Johnny stated this 
fooled even Tony. 

Gallup’s eyes wavered ever so little as Johnny 
stared into them. “Let’s hear his name,” Aaron 
demanded uneasily. 

“You ask that—you of all men?” Johnny ex¬ 
claimed, piling on the coals now that he had Aaron 
on edge. 

“Why shouldn’t I ask?” the coroner almost 
roared. “Are you hintin’ at somethin’ ?” 

Thus did Aaron deliver himself temporarily 
into Johnny’s hands. 

“Why, ain’t you the party what proclaimed long 



82 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


and loud last night that that dead man killed 
hisself?” 

Gallup swallowed hard. 

“That’s all, huh?” he cried angrily. “Sounded 
to me like you was puttin’ me under suspicion.” 

“Ain’t I?” demanded Johnny. “I aim to, if I 
haven’t. I suspect every man in this town to-day. 
And in your case, I couldn’t begin to tell you all 
that I suspect about you.” 

“Mouth talk—sluff, that’s all anybody can git 
from you!” Gallup shook his fist in Johnny’s 
face. “When I talk, I say somethin’.” 

“Yeh, your tongue’s all right, Aaron, but your 
brain is dead. You go down to Brackett’s place 
and find out a thing or two. That dead man’s 
horse and outfit is down there.” 

Tony’s smile melted to one of almost positive 
enjoyment as he saw Gallup’s dismay. This bit of 
information thoroughly upset Aaron. Truly, this 
Dice person had put one over on him! 

“You meddlin’ insect!” Gallup screeched as he 
stamped away. “You’ve got two hours to git out 
of town. You’ll find I know eighteen or twenty 
little ways to shut you up!” 



OUTSIDE THE LAW 


83 


Johnny sped him on his way with a laugh that 
curdled the old man’s soul. 

At the corner, Johnny stopped to gaze at 
Aaron’s retreating figure, now a block away. 
Turning into the crossroad, they waited until 
Gallup entered Brackett’s barn. 

“Come on, Tony,” Johnny urged. “I’ve got a 
strange desire to see the inside of Mr. Gallup’s 
house. You stay in front. I’m goin’ through the 
window. Move up and down. Whistle if he 
comes back.” 

Johnny did not wait for the Basque to caution 
him. The window was open, and without any 
effort Johnny hoisted himself over the sill. Five 
minutes later he was back, and with Tony, started 
for the Palace. 

Once in their room, Johnny pulled out the dead 
man’s gun. “We’re outside the law now, all 
right,” he muttered. “But we got the reason for 
goin’ to Winnemuc 1” 

“Those gun?” 

“Sure, those gun,” Johnny laughed. “That’s a 
brand new firin’ pin in that pistol. I’m going to 
find out who put it there. They ain’t no gunsmith 



8 4 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


this side of Winnemucca. Roll your stuff and 
we’ll drift.” 

Five minutes later they were ready. 

“Mebbe you suppose Gallup fin’ those bridle 
buttons?” Tony asked as they started down the 
stairs. 

“Not a chance, muchachito ” Johnny patted his 
pants pocket. “I don’t leave nothin’ behind.” 



CHAPTER VII. 


IF THIS BE LOVE. 

Shortly after five o’clock that same day, 
Johnny and Tony emerged from the lava beds to 
the east of the Diamond-Bar stronghold. Below 
them, its fringe of poplars glistening in the sun¬ 
light, stood the comfortable old house and its 
outbuildings. 

The trail from town led across miles of unin¬ 
teresting flats, alkali patches and finally by means 
of much tortuous winding through the lava beds. 
A haze, as of smoke, hung in the sky. The air 
was warm. At midday it had been hot in the open. 
Sage hen and mountain quail rose before them, the 
old cocks and hens so heavy that the frantic flap¬ 
ping of their wings as they got into the air made 
the horses throw up their heads every time they 
flushed a covey. 

Sleeping in a saddle is a little trick the range- 
man soon acquires. Many times on this same 
85 


86 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


trail Johnny and the Basque had ridden with 
closed eyes, their minds in dreamland. Not so to¬ 
day! And wherever men toiled north of the 
Humboldt this exception held true. This day was 
one of the awaited ones—one of those few, brief 
days of Indian summer when the desert smiles and 
relents. Perhaps because the time is so short, 
God pours the wine of life with a lavish hand. 
Mexican peon, Basque pellado, argonaut, prospec¬ 
tor, cowman, herder—not one but answers to the 
spell of this magic which the red gods long ago 
gave to the tribes. 

And yet this marvelous day found a peculiar 
sadness in Johnny’s heart. Restless, untalkative, 
he had ridden the long miles, little understanding 
the misery which was in him. The sight of the 
old Diamond-Bar house seemed to furnish him 
with an answer, for he squinted his eyes to blot out 
some sudden emotion. Was he homesick? Was 
it the knowledge that he would not be riding this 
trail again that was setting so heavily upon him? 

Johnny need not have wondered longer. He 
had discovered the truth. And this day of days 
had only accentuated his unhappiness. 



IF THIS BE LOVE 


87 


This was his country. He knew every mesa, 
draw and coulee as a city boy knows his own block. 
Far horizons, towering peaks—they were land¬ 
marks to him; things of life, with personalities. 
There were things here that he loved because they 
were beautiful—colors unequaled, vistas beyond 
comparison. 

To say that he ever referred to it in these or 
similar terms would be more than the truth. But 
he felt it; answered to the tug of it. And Johnny 
Dice was not an emotional person. 

And yet men called his chosen land a desert. 
Passing strange it is that so ill a name suffices. 

When they reached the house they found it 
seemingly as lazy as the day. Charlie Sam, the 
Chinese cook, lay sprawled upon a bench in the 
sun. He did not so much as move as Johnny rode 
past him. Little Hughie High, who combined 
the duties of ranch blacksmith, filer, and man of 
all work, had been tinkering with the windmill. 
He waved a careless hand from his perch above 
them, but made no word of greeting, fearing to 
break the undisturbed comfort which so rarely 
came his way. 



88 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


A wide hall led through the ranch-house, in back 
of which stood the bunk-house. Beyond that, at 
some distance, were the barns and corrals. On 
the side of the house facing the men’s quarters, 
with a door opening to the hallway, the old man 
had his office, a big square-shaped room. 

On stated occasions, when it pleased old Jack- 
son to unbend, he escorted whichever of his men 
he had invited into his sanctum, down that long, 
wide hall to the front door. Only at such times 
did the Diamond-Bar hands tread those precincts. 

Tony went on to the bunk-house, but Johnny 
stopped and whistled a call. It went unanswered. 
His roving eyes searched the yard and windows, 
but Molly Kent was not to be seen. Walking 
around to the front of the house, Johnny peered 
through open doors. Tony had gone around to 
the rear of the place by now, and Johnny saw him 
as he stepped into the bunk-house. 

Left alone with his thoughts, the boy stopped 
and listened. Only the penetrating sound of 
Charlie Sam’s snoring broke the stillness. Cau¬ 
tiously, Johnny whistled again. His embarrass¬ 
ment grew as he waited. Minutes passed, and a 



IF THIS BE LOVE 


boldness he had never known in his days as a 
Diamond-Bar man took possession of him. Cross¬ 
ing the threshold he tapped on the door of Molly 
Kent’s room. 

Light as his tap had been the unlatched door 
moved back an inch or two. The delicate perfume 
which he had always associated with Molly 
reached his nostrils. Unknown to himself, he 
trembled. 

She was not here; his good-bye would have to 
go unsaid. He extracted some slight degree of 
comfort from that. Good-byes did not come 
easily to his lips. 

An overwhelming desire to push back that door 
and to stand for just one minute in the room which 
she had sanctified with her presence all these years 
took possession of him. There in her room he’d 
say his farewell to her. 

From his pocket he brought forth a mysterious 
little package—a mouth organ. This was in 
answer to Molly’s often expressed desire for one. 
Johnny had not spared his money in purchasing it. 
He had had it sent all the way from San Fran- 



9° 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


cisco. He looked at the package as if asking it to 
answer him. 

“Yes,” he murmured; “this ’ll be best. I’ll just 
leave it on her dresser for her. Maybe shell 
guess it’s from me.” 

The inside of that room was a revelation to 
Johnny Dice. Never before had he been face to 
face with feminine daintiness of this sort. From 
the chintz curtains and colorful cretonnes to the 
array of mysterious articles spread about him this 
room was as different from the rest of the house 
as day is from night. 

Something sang in Johnny’s heart as he reached 
out to place his gift on Molly’s dresser and found 
himself gazing at his own picture in a neat little 
frame hung to one side of the girl’s large mirror. 

The picture was an old-fashioned studio photo¬ 
graph portraying the subject in one of his saddest 
and most miserable moments. Johnny’s pride had 
long since forced him to destroy the copy he had 
kept for himself. But there it was in her room! 

The world suddenly became a paradise. Even 
on Johnny the day had not been wasted. He 
smiled sheepishly on catching sight of his own re- 



IF THIS BE LOVE 


9i 


flection in the glass. He began to ask himself 
important questions. Between Molly and him 
there had never passed a word beyond the prov¬ 
ince of friendship. She was a rich man’s daugh¬ 
ter, and forty a month is no inducement to hold 
out to young ladies of her means. And then, too, 
it didn’t lead to steady employment if one made 
eyes at owners’ daughters. There were some 
social barriers even in Nevada. 

Now, that he was leaving, matters matured 
very rapidly in the boy’s mind. What sort of a 
fool had he been all these years not to have known 
that he was over his head, that Molly Kent meant 
more to him than any other being who had come 
into his life? An hour ago he had told himself he 
was blue because he was leaving the country and 
the Diamond-Bar behind. That was a lie! Own 
up to it, now. It wasn’t the Diamond-Bar or the 
purple shadows on the Tuscaroras that he was 
going to miss. No! It was Molly Kent! 

And Molly? Johnny’s teeth clenched under his 
tightly pressed lips as he gazed once more on that 
picture of himself. 

“She don’t hate me, at least,” he murmured 



92 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


half aloud. “Who’d ever thought she’d ’a’ kept 
that thing all these years? Why—and there’s 
those little silver spurs I brung her when she was 
just a kid. Real silver, they was, too.” 

Johnny put his hand on them tenderly. He 
seemed to have difficulty in breathing. Emotion 
was welling up in him to a point which made him 
reel. The mouth organ was placed on the bureau. 
He wanted to get outside, to think, to tell himself 
that he had not been dreaming, that life still 
went on. 

Was it because of Molly that the old man had 
been so short with him? The thought galloped 
through Johnny’s mind. Did Jackson Kent see in 
him a possible suitor for her hand—an undesir¬ 
able, financially irresponsible suitor? Had there 
been talk, whisperings behind his back? Had 
Molly said anything? A dozen questions leaped 
to his mind. He shook his head wearily as he 
turned for the door, anxious to be away from this 
house which only a few minutes before he had been 
loath to leave. Another step would have taken 
him to the door, when he stopped, mouth open, 
his eyes bulging as if they could not believe what 



IF THIS BE LOVE 


93 


they beheld. Slowly the foot which he had poised 
in mid-air came down; but the accusing finger 
which he had pointed at the thing beside the door 
did not waver. 

“Great God!” he groaned. “That’s a copy of 
the picture I’ve got in my pocket!” 

It was, beyond question. Set in a small gold 
frame hung beside the door was an exact duplicate 
of the photograph he had found in the dead man’s 
wallet. 

With cold fingers he held up the picture that he 
drew from his pocket until it rested beside the one 
on the wall. They were the same ! 

Eyes transfixed, Johnny stared on and on, and 
as he stood there spellbound, the door opened. 
Jackson Kent faced him. Something too big for 
words held the two for a brief second. Johnny 
was the first to react. Surreptitiously the hand 
holding the picture moved to his pocket, but he 
was too late. The old man had been staring at it. 

Fingers of steel caught and held Johnny’s arm. 
The surprise had died out of Kent’s eyes. They 
were flashing now with a madman’s fury. The 
boy could feel the man’s hot breath upon his 



94 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


cheek. Johnny heard the other’s voice break as he 
fought for speech. 

Then, with heaving lungs, old Jackson cried 
out: 

“Give it to me! Give it to me—do you hear?” 
His voice arose until it became almost a scream 
as he demanded: “What are you doin’ with that 
picture of my little girl?” 

Kent’s hungry fingers lunged for the coveted 
photograph. Johnny’s eyes had narrowed to mere 
slits. 

“No!” he exclaimed. “I keep that picture. It 
belongs to a dead man I” 



CHAPTER VIII. 


STRAIGHT TALK. 

Johnny had immediate cause to regret his 
melodramatic words. 

“Give me his name! Tell me who he was!” the 
old man shouted. 

And obviously Johnny could not answer truth¬ 
fully. He pondered lie after lie without finding 
one to pass muster. Kent saw his helplessness. 

“You can’t answer, eh? Well, maybe you can 
tell me what you’re doin’ here in this room.” 

“Tony and I came to git our stuff,” Johnny 
replied. 

“Your stuff? It ain’t in here, is it?” 

“I had a little present for Miss Molly. I 
wanted to leave it where she’d git it. I reckoned 
I’d not be seein’ her again, soon.” 

“Present?” Old Jackson’s lips curled contemp¬ 
tuously. “I’ll bring all the presents she needs. 
You been treated most like one of the family 
95 


9 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


round here, so you show your gratitude by shinin’ 
up to my girl, eh?” 

“You know that ain’t so,” Johnny answered 
miserably. “Hobe and me has been bringin’ her 
little things nigh ten years.” 

“She was a child then. And you carryin’ her 
picture around. I won’t have it! Damn it, I 
won’t! My girl ain’t intended for no forty-dollar- 
a-month cowpunch. I want that picture.” 

Johnny shook his head. Less angry than he 
had been, he said: 

“I can’t give it to you. If Molly says she wants 
it, all right. I’ll give it to her. Ain’t no talk 
goin’ to make me change my mind about that.” 

“She’ll tell you quick enough.” Kent raised his 
voice to cry out her name. 

“No good doin’ that,” Johnny advised. “She 
ain’t here.” 

“I’ll find out whether she is or not. You git 
your stuff now. Take your presents with you, 
too.” 

Johnny had never been dismissed in this fash¬ 
ion. Tight-lipped, cheeks burning, he shook his 
head. “No,” he muttered, “I’d not do that.” 



STRAIGHT TALK 


97 


“Well, I’ll take care of it, then.” 

And he caught up the harmonica and hurled it 
through the open window. “You git your stuff,” 
he thundered. 

The lust to tear this old man’s body with his 
hands surged in Johnny Dice. And yet, Molly 
was his daughter! The thought struck Johnny 
with a double significance. Jackson Kent had 
identified the dead man’s treasured keepsake. 
But why had that man carried Molly Kent’s pho¬ 
tograph? Questions began stabbing at Johnny’s 
brain. 

Molly had had nothing to do with the man’s 
death. Hobe had given the old man an alibi. 
But there was a draw to this affair which could 
not be argued into nothingness. Molly was mys¬ 
teriously away from home; Jackson here when he 
had left for Winnemucca, and always that picture 
of the girl in the dead man’s wallet to be ex¬ 
plained. 

In a sort of daze Johnny got his blankets and 
other gear and placed them upon his saddle. 

Kent had roused Charlie Sam and set him to 



9 8 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


ringing the ranch-house bell. Only little Hughie 
answered the bell’s imperative summons. 

“Where’s Molly?” the girl’s father demanded. 

“Now, that’s a hard question to answer,” 
Hughie replied. “Never a word did she say to 
me. She got her horse herself this mornin’. 
’Twa’n’t later than eight when she rode off. 
Charlie, here, must have talked to her.” 

“No talk,” squint-eyed Charlie Sam declared. 
“Me pack lunch. She damn big hurry.” 

“One of you must have seen whicha-way she 
went.” 

“Left here headin’ for Argenta,” Hughie ex¬ 
claimed. “I was over there last night for the mail. 
Brought a letter for her. Mayhap she’s ridden 
out with the answer.” 

“She ain’t been in Argenta,” Kent said posi¬ 
tively. “I—got off there myself, and borrowed a 
horse from Matt Pease. I’d ’a’ passed her on the 
road if she’d been headin’ there.” 

Argenta is a flag station half-way between 
Standing Rock and Winnemucca. The old man 
could easily enough have done as he claimed. But 
where could Molly have gone? If she had gone 



STRAIGHT TALK 


99 


south, she must have come to the railroad. Surely 
she would not have bothered with lunch had she 
set out for Argenta or any neighboring ranch. 

Beyond question she had not gone to Standing 
Rock or else Johny and Tony would have passed 
her. That left only Winnemucca as a possible 
destination. Hughie’s observation that she had 
been “all dressed up” only added to Johnny’s con¬ 
viction that he would find her there. But why 
had she left without leaving a note for her father? 
And why the long ride when she might have 
caught a train at Argenta or Standing Rock? 
Wasn’t it plain that she hoped to go unquestioned? 
But what had she to conceal? Could the letter 
which Hughie had brought be the answer? 

Johnny glanced at the old man, who was pacing 
back and forth, mumbling to himself. His con¬ 
cern for his girl swept away some of the boy’s 
angry feelings. Old tyrant that he was, no one 
could deny his love for Molly. 

“She shouldn’t do these fool things,” Johnny 
heard him say. “Runnin’ off without a word! 
She’s only a girl; only a child.” He stopped to 



100 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


catch Johnny’s eye. “You come in here a minute,” 
he ordered. 

Tony sighed impatiently as Johnny and the old 
man went inside. 

When the two men reached the office Kent shot 
his demand at the boy without a second’s delay: 

“I want that picture!” 

“I told you I’d give it to Molly if she won’t let 
me keep it. That’s my answer. I never knew 
till an hour ago what she meant to me. I’m tellin’ 
you fair, now, that I’m takin’ my orders from 
her.” 

“Well, you’re armed, and so is the Basque, but 
I’ll have my say before very long. You stay ’way 
from my daughter. You’re a fool if you’re 
countin’ on puttin’ her between us. She’s my girl! 
Keep your picture! She’ll be askin’ for it quick 
enough. Don’t let me hear that you’re showin’ it 
round, makin’ talk. By God, there won’t be room 
enough in this State for you if you do.” 

“Your opinion of me does credit to you, don’t 
it?” the boy snapped back. “Funny you didn’t 
find me out long ago.” 



STRAIGHT TALK 


IOI 


“You keep your back talk,” Kent roared. 
“Where you goin’ when you leave here?” 

Johnny smiled enigmatically. 

“That’s a fair question. I’ll ask you one, and 
we’ll be even-Stephen. When you left Standing 
Rock this mornin’ you told Hobe you were off for 
Winnemuc. I’d admire to know what made you 
change your mind.” 

“What do you mean?” gasped the old man. 
“My comin’s and goin’s are my own business. 
Are you hintin’ at somethin’? 

“No, I ain’t hintin’. But I’m doin’ some tall 
thinkin’.” 

“You can give it a name if you’re half a man.” 

Johnny turned away sadly. 

“I guess I don’t measure up,” he said slowly. 
“And, besides, I’d hate to give tongue to it. But 
I’ll say this much”—and he wheeled on old Kent 
again—“I’ll answer your first question. I’m goin’ 
and goin’ when I leave here. And I’m goin’ to 
keep on movin’ till I find out who killed that man 
in Standing Rock. Till I do, my address is in my 
hat. I know you’ve got the low-down on me. 
Well, let it ride. No matter what you think, I 



102 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


shoot square. You’re rich, you’ve got big friends; 
I know what you can do to me. Hop to it! But 
don’t you ever forgit that while I live I love your 
daughter. And if I ever amount to anythin’, and 
she’ll have me, I’ll come back and marry her. And 
you can please go to hell 1” 



CHAPTER IX. 

TWO OLD MEN. 

The following morning at eleven o’clock 
Johnny and Tony sent their tired ponies across 
the newfangled concrete bridge which spanned the 
Humboldt on upper Bridge Street. 

Winnemucca lay somnolent in the midday sun, 
the street so deep with dust that it softened the 
sound of their horses’ hoofs to a dull pad-pad as 
they continued on past Rinehart’s general store 
and the new State Bank building. The two men 
had ridden all night. In fact, they had put a 
staggering number of miles behind them since they 
had left Standing Rock the preceding day. 

Johnny swung off his horse in front of the Eldo¬ 
rado Hotel. He had long since decided that he 
would find Molly registered there. His method 
of ascertaining this was indeed strange, for, in¬ 
stead of going to the desk where the register lay 
open to public view, he made directly for the bar. 

Whitey Carr, the bartender, nodded to him. 

103 


104 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Johnny said “How?” and ordered a drink. It 
was to win this bit of recognition that he had 
entered the room. He had been there often 
enough to have more than a nodding acquaintance 
with Whitey and his co-workers. In truth, 
Johnny’s intimacy with the craft was well-nigh 
universal. 

Being remembered, and thusly armed for his 
attack on the register, he searched for some writ¬ 
ten sign of the girl’s presence. Her name did not 
reward him. Whitey Carr saw his perturbance 
and through the swinging doors he called: 

“Who you looking for,' Johnny?” 

Johnny’s desire to find the girl outweighed his 
desire for secrecy. 

“Lookin’ for the old man’s daughter,” he called 
back to Whitey. 

The bartender shook his head positively. 

“Ain’t been no females here in two days,” he 
said. “That is, exceptin’ some show folks.” 

There was no need looking for her at the other 
hotels. If she were in town she would be here. 
Johnny’s face wore a frown as he stepped to the 
door and motioned to Tony to come in and eat. 



TWO OLD MEN 


105 


“She ain’t here,” he said to the Basque. “We 
got to eat, though. Soon as I get a few victuals 
inside of me I’ll prospect around.” 

The restaurant was a long, narrow room set 
with high stools before a wooden counter. Tony 
tried to make talk, but the boy was more intent 
on watching the few passers-by on Bridge Street, 
hoping against hope that he might catch a glimpse 
of the girl. But he finished his meal of ham and 
eggs and pie without this coming to pass. 

When he had paid their check he said to Tony: 

“You’d better git a room and turn in for an 
hour or two. I’ll be back soon. What we got to 
do won’t be done in a day.” 

“For why you leave me behin’, Johnny?” 

“I ain’t leavin’ you behind. I tell you, we need 
sleep. We may be headin’ back for Standing 
Rock to-night. You turn in.” 

Leaving the hotel, Johnny went down the street 
to Dan Secor’s shop. Old Dan ran a second-hand 
store and pawnshop in addition to his business of 
gunsmithing. He was going home for dinner 
when Johnny hailed him. 




io6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Hey, Dan,” the boy called, “I want to see you 
a minute before you go. Open up for a second.” 

“That’s you boys,” the old fellow growled. 
“Sit here all mornin’ long ’thout nary a customer, 
and soon as I gits locked up you flock in. What 
you want?” 

“Dan, I want you to take a look at this gun. 
D’you ever see it before?” 

Dan had to put his specs in position before he 
could answer. 

“Sure; put that firin’ pin in myself. That’s an 
old Ross pistol.” 

Johnny was all smiles. 

This was the first bit of luck to come his way 
this day. 

“I reckoned you’d fixed it up.” 

“Ain’t yore gun, is it?” old Dan questioned. 
“Leastways, it wa’n’t you had it in here to be 
fixed.” 

“No. I just came by the gun accidental-like. 
I’m right interested in the man what owned it, 
though. Suppose you got his name in your 
books.” 

“Umph—umph!” Dan grunted. “Ain’t, nei- 



TWO OLD MEN 


107 


ther. I ’member he waited here while I put in the 
pin. Had quite a talk.” 

Johnny’s face fell. Old Dan’s words had 
dropped him from the clouds to the bottomless 
pit. What mattered it that he had traced the dead 
man’s movements to Secor’s shop? His sur¬ 
mising was proved correct, but the murdered 
man’s identity remained a mystery, and that had 
to be solved before he could proceed with any 
assurance of success. Johnny cursed in his cha¬ 
grin. Could you find two men in a hundred who 
would have a gun repaired while they waited? Of 
course not! It was just a trick of fate’s to thwart 
him. It wouldn’t happen so again in a thousand 
years. 

“You seem right put out,” Dan rejoined. 
“Man ain’t done nothin’?” 

“Not a thing. Say, you mind tellin’ me what 
you two talked about?” 

“Don’t know as I do. Wa’n’t nothin’ puss’nal; 
’twas mostly cattle talk, him askin’ after the 
brands folks was runnin’ along the river. You 
know, light talk—two old men.” 

The old gunsmith took off his glasses and gazed 



io8 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


vacantly into space, as if. beholding some pleasant 
vista of almost forgotten years. “Yes,” he mur¬ 
mured, “two old men. Him and me had been in 
Santa Fe ’bout the same time.” Dan clucked his 
lips at the memory. “Them was the days; riotin’ 
ever’ night, hell poppin’ over in the Tonto, Injuns 
puttin’ on the paint every now and then.” 

The old man paused abruptly. Then: 

“Say, Johnny!” he exclaimed. “Come to think 
on it, your man did say somethin’ puss’nal. Asked 
me what folks said of old Kent’s daughter.” 

“What?” 

Johnny’s exclamation was whipped out with such 
force as to startle old Dan. Here was that draw 
again—Molly and the dead man. Every place he 
turned he came face to face with it. 

The gunsmith misunderstood the boy’s attitude. 
“Why, Johnny, they wa’n’t no harm in the ques¬ 
tion. I told him folks said only good things of 
Molly Kent. And he didn’t seem to set no great 
store by my answer. Said he was goin’ over to the 
Piute Reservation; didn’t say he was, but I knew 
it because he asked me if he could git to Standing 



TWO OLD MEN 


109 


Rock from the North Fork without a-comin’ way 
back here.” 

Johnny began to understand that the talk the 
two men had was of vital importance, even though 
old Dan saw nothing of value in it. The boy won¬ 
dered if he should tell the old man of the murder. 
Another day and he would know of it, anyhow. 
Better make an ally of the old man and get him 
to hold his tongue. And then, too, the surprise 
of telling him now might startle him into recalling 
some other bit of conversation. 

“Dan,” he began, “when did you have that 
talk?” 

“ ’Bout six days ago, I reckon.” 

“You ain’t sure?” 

“Le’s see—yes, I’m sot on that. ’Twas the first 
of the month.” 

The first of the month; this was the sixth. 
Tony had seen the man on the North Fork five 
days ago. It fitted in! 

“He didn’t say who he was goin’ to see over in 
the Injun country?” 

“Don’t reckon he did.” 

“That’s goin’ to be awfully important, Dan, 



IIO 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


because this man got hisself killed night before 
last.” 

“No! Not killed?” 

“Killed dead. Old Aaron says he killed hisself. 
It’s a lie. He was murdered. I’m aimin’ to find 
out who did it. And, Dan, when folks git to 
talkin’ about it down here, I want you to be dumb. 
That man got a rotten deal. Ain’t nobody but me 
goin’ to square it. What do you say?” 

“I say yes. You ain’t askin’me nothin’.” He 
shook his head. “Killed, eh? And him lookin’ 
to be so handy with a gun. It wa’n’t no fair fight.” 

“You said somethin’. I know he was on the 
North Fork. Went to the Rock from there. But 
there was two days in between. Do you suppose 
he was on the Reservation all that time? Can’t 
you remember who he was goin’ to see over there? 
Was it Ames, the trader, or the agent? Maybe 
it was old Thunder Bird!” 

“No, Johnny, he didn’t say. But he did tell me 
he was cornin’ back! Said he’d be here Saturday.” 

“Saturday? That’s to-day.” Johnny whistled 
a surprised note or two. Dan watched him as he 
walked back and forth, hands thrust deep into his 



TWO OLD MEN 


hi 


pockets. “Saturday,” the boy muttered. “Cornin’ 
back here. Say, Dan, what would he be cornin’ 
back here for? Was he aimin’ to meet some¬ 
body?” 

“That might ’a’ been it. Or mail—he might ’a’ 
been expectin’ a letter.” 

“That’s it!” Johnny pounded the counter vehe¬ 
mently. “He was cornin’ back for his mail!” 

Johnny was so excited that the noon-time pedes¬ 
trians stared at him as they passed. 

The boy was unmindful of them until a girl’s 
mocking laugh reached his ears. He turned, then, 
to stare her down; but the expression on his face 
changed with magic swiftness, for, standing there 
watching him, her face pressed close to old Dan’s 
window, was Molly Kent. 

She had been watching him these many seconds. 
A roguish light swam in her eyes as Johnny’s 
mouth sagged with amazement. 

“Ride him, cowboy 1” she called. “Ride him!” 

It was the old Diamond-Bar battle-cry. 

Johnny shook his head dully. “I’m damned!” 
was all he could say. 



CHAPTER X. 


MOLLY KENT. 

Sweet Molly Kent was as a flower blooming 
in the grayness of wind-swept Winnemucca. 
Johnny wondered how she contrived to be so clean 
and pressed. He had been to San Francisco and 
seen the fashionable folk of Grant Avenue. Molly 
could have walked among them this day to their 
envy. 

On the range she wore fitting clothes, but never 
—Heaven forbid!—the side-show “cow-girl” cos¬ 
tume which Western girls are popularly supposed 
to wear. Brown tweeds of a sensible cut, and 
boots to match the best, served her. If she made 
any concession to the popular idea it was in the 
wearing of a small sombrero. Johnny had seen 
her so attired times enough to have overcome his 
awe of her. This new dress of to-day, however, 
was thoroughly disconcerting. Wise Molly di¬ 
vined his embarrassment and, womanlike, enjoyed 
it. 


112 


MOLLY KENT 


ii3 

The flash of her gleaming white teeth only 
added to the boy’s uneasiness. It was so much 
better to observe girls of her type from a distance. 
Not that she was merely pretty or in a true sense 
beautiful. Molly’s chin was too masculine for 
that, her eyes too wide-set. And yet it was her 
eyes and that very chin which compelled attention. 
There was sense in this girl, a clean body and a 
clean mind. Loyalty spoke, too. 

Others had noted these things. Men do. 
Yes, and most women, too. Springy step, well- 
rounded ankles, glorious body, the touch of color 
in the cheeks glowing against her black hair—they 
all spoke of youth, of rare vitality. Here was a 
human being come thus far from the Master’s 
mold unmarred. And this in a rough country. 
It was no mean compliment to Jackson Kent. 

Poor Johnny I He sensed these things and felt 
himself ugly, awkward, hopeless before her. At 
this moment he would have fought any man so 
rash as to claim that she could ever care for his 
unworthy self. 

Taking pity on Johnny, Molly ended his misery 
by breaking the spell which held him. 



SMOKE OF THE .45 


114 


“I thought you were going to strike that old 
man,” she said half seriously. “I’d like to know 
what you are doing down here.” 

“Business,” Johnny answered dryly. 

“Well, the Diamond-Bar is shipping from 
Standing Rock, isn’t it?” 

Molly’s eyes held his provokingly. 

“It is,” Johnny drawled nervously. 

“But you’re not. Is that what you are trying 
to say, Mr. Dice?” 

Johnny nodded his head ever so slightly. The 
smile left Molly’s eyes. 

“Father and you again, Johnny?” she asked 
anxiously. 

“Just me this time, I guess. No matter. I got 
my pay. But let’s talk of somethin’ pleasant, if 
there is any such.” 

The girl’s gayety did not return so easily. 
“I just can’t be pleasant by request, that way, 
Johnny,” she said honestly. “I want to talk to 
you about this before I start for home.” 

“When you leavin’ here?” 

“Not before morning.” 

This suited Mr. Dice. 



MOLLY KENT 


”5 


“You rode in, didn’t yuh?” he questioned. 
Molly grinned in spite of herself. “Folks to home 
all worried about you,” the boy went on. “Your 
daddy tearin’ hair and cursin’. I figured you was 
down here, and I looked for you at the hotel.” 

“Don’t you tell me what you thought when you 
found I wasn’t there. Of course I wouldn’t go to 
a hotel. The Langwell girls would never forgive 
me if I did. Don’t tell me you were worried.” 

“That would be kinda hard for me, wouldn’t 
it?” Johnny drawled. 

Molly laughed outright at this. “Next to in¬ 
jured feelings, there’s nothing like self-pity to 
make a person miserable, is there, Johnny? Now 
you tell me, is father out looking for me?” 

“Certainly is. You’d better send a telegram 
over to Argenta. Hughie High will be down 
there to-night for the mail.” 

“Of course. I don’t understand what brought 
father back from the Rock so quickly. Was it 
anything to do with you?” 

And now Johnny lied. “Td hate to think so,” 
he told her. 



SMOKE OF THE .45 


116 

Shrewd Molly was not more than half con¬ 
vinced of this. 

“And the business that brought you here?” she 
inquired. 

Apparently, a violent itching of the Dice scalp 
followed, but the girl insisted upon an answer. 

“Er—private business,” Johnny said lamely; 
but to Molly it carried an air of mystery. 

“Well, you meet me at the hotel about two. 
I wish father had stayed at the Rock another day.” 

Johnny turned back to Dan’s place, but the old 
man had slipped out. So, left to himself, the boy 
promptly began to worry over Molly’s farewell 
words. It was plain enough that she had hoped 
to make her hurried trip without her father know¬ 
ing of it. But what reason could she have for 
that? The question stayed with Mr. Dice. The 
girl was nervous. He could tell that. Coming to 
Winnemucca had always been something of a lark. 
Well, he had failed to find any spirit of vacation 
about her to-day. A blunt question or two would 
follow this afternoon! 

Johnny had voiced his need of sleep, but now 
that he had the opportunity he made no effort to 



MOLLY KENT 


117 

resign himself to it. For one thing, he wanted to 
think over that trip to the reservation. Western 
men did not go romping over the hills to Indian 
country for the thrill of going. It had been one 
of the dead man’s last acts; perhaps the one which 
had led to his death. 

The boy could advance a dozen reasons for the 
man’s going there. Instinctively he felt it held 
the answer to the riddle he was trying to solve. 
Another talk with Dan was urgent, and then a 
visit to the Agency. Johnny could talk the Piute 
hand language. If necessary he would stay there 
for days until he had talked to every brave on the 
reservation. 

But that was something for this afternoon or 
to-morrow. For the immediate present he had a 
matter of equal importance in mind. Perhaps 
nothing would come of it, but it was surely 
worth the effort. Johnny was as certain now as 
he had been when Molly had interrupted him in 
his talk with Dan that the stranger had been com¬ 
ing back to Winnemucca for his mail. It was the 
boy’s intention to verify this at once. 



CHAPTER XI. 

MORE THAN A BET. 

Noontime was an hour of leisure at the post 
office, due to the fact that without exception the 
east and west mail trains arrived in the very early 
morning or late afternoon. This suited Johnny. 
Strolling up to the window he found Miss Nannie 
Price, the assistant postmistress, in the act of ar¬ 
tistically dissecting an orange. 

“Mr. Allerdyce!” Nannie gurgled. “You are 
a stranger, even though handsomer than usual.” 

“Now, you stop, Miss Nannie, ma’am,” Johnny 
grinned. “A new neckpiece ain’t deceivin’ you 
thata-way.” 

Nannie laughed. In common with many others, 
she was fond of Johnny. 

“You’re not expecting any mail?” she asked. 

“No, ma’am, not exactly. Fact is, Miss Nan¬ 
nie, I want you to do me a favor. And it ain’t 
downright reg’lar, either.” 

Nannie perked up at once. “Oh, Mr. Aller- 
118 


MORE THAN A BET 


119 

dyce,” she cooed, “I’m dying t° know what it is.” 

“Well, I’ll tell yuh. There was a man over in 
Standing Rock the other night, and nobody could 
find out his name. I just bet I v could. I know he 
was allowin’ to come back here, and I surmise he 
gets mail here. His initials are C. T. I told my¬ 
self if anybody answered to that down here, you’d 
know it.” 

“C. T. ?” queried Nannie, her memory being 
put to question. “C. T.—Charles, Chris, Ches¬ 
ter, Cleve—Cleve von Thurlow? No, that would 
be C. V., wouldn’t it? Humph! Beats me.” 
And to show how positive her statement was she 
reached for the letters in the T pigeonhole. 
Thumbing them with a practiced hand she ran 
over them speedily. Johnny’s heart was pounding 
heavily, for he was having the secrets of the 
United States mails opened to him. Putting Nan¬ 
nie on her mettle had won where a more direct 
method would have failed most miserably. 

Johnny’s elation began to wane as the girl went 
on through the handful of letters without pausing, 
and then, as he was about to give up hope, Nannie 
flapped a letter to the counter. 



120 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“That’s him!” she exclaimed. “Crosbie Tray- 
nor! Must be, because here’s another for him. 
Where was he from—Flagstaff?” 

“That’s right,” Johnny assured her. “From 
down Arizona way. Crosbie Traynor! Well, 
ma’am, it’s sure my treat. Next time you go by 
the Eagle Drug, you stop in. There’ll be a box of 
candy there for you.” 

“You shouldn’t do that, Mr. Allerdyce,” Nan¬ 
nie protested very prettily. “You know that I 
usually do remember names; but we’ve been so 
busy.” 

Johnny was in no mood to complain of this 
willing worker. “My laws, of course!” he 
hastened to say. “Fools shouldn’t be coming 
around botherin’ you.” 

And Johnny, further to show his gratitude, pur¬ 
chased a dollar’s worth of stamps, for which he 
had absolutely no use. And, of course, Nannie’s 
percentage didn’t hold good on the deal, either. 

Johnny’s pace, when he had turned back on to 
Bridge Street, slowed materially. He was too full 
for words. To go back to the hotel would be to 
share his success with Tony, and he was not yet 




MORE THAN A BET 


121 


ready to do that. As was habitual with him, he 
wanted to be alone to digest this latest discovery. 
He found the proper place for it in the deserted 
waiting-room at the Espee station. 

His continual repetition of the dead man’s name 
might have been a funeral chant, so often did he 
sound it. 

“Crosbie Traynor.” A pause, then: “Crosbie 
Traynor. I’ve got the tracks cleared now! I’ll 
see the Injuns first; but if I’m stopped there, I’m 
goin’ on, even if it’s clear to Flagstaff!” 



CHAPTER XII. 


MOLLY EXPLAINS. 

Two o’clock found Johnny mounting the stairs 
to the Eldorado’s parlor. Molly awaited him, 
but the boy found her cast down. Her appearance 
prompted him to plain speaking. 

“Listen, girl,” he said. “There’s somethin’ 
wrong. Now, tell me what it is. I felt it this 
mornin’. It ain’t your way to steal off, and that’s 
what you did this trip. You’re worried, and I 
know it.” 

“I am, Johnny,” Molly answered readily. “I’d 
have told you without your asking. I did come 
here hurriedly and without a word to any one. 
Maybe I’ve been foolish, but it sounded so genuine 
that I had to do as I have. I won’t talk in riddles 
any longer. Hughie brought me this letter night 
before last. It rather upset me, and then, too, I 
was curious. I want you to read it.” 

Johnny’s face whitened as he obeyed her, for 
122 


MOLLY EXPLAINS 


123 


without question it was a communication from 
Crosbie Traynor. 

The letter ran: 

“Miss Molly Kent, Diamond-Bar Ranch: 

“Please do not be alarmed by this letter. One who 
wishes you w T ell writes it. Although I am a stranger, I 
have traveled many hundred miles to see you. 

“I am an old man—old beyond my time. Seeing you is 
one of the two ambitions I have left me. Let the fact 
that I have loved your mother, living and dead, these 
forty years, explain my interest in you. It is of her that 
I want to talk to you. 

“Will you come to Winnemucca on the sixth? I’ll look 
for you in the parlor of the Eldorado Hotel at noon. 

“For reasons that you will understand then, I hope you 
will come alone and that you will not go to the shipping 
pens until you have seen me. 

“My name would mean nothing to you, so I will sign 
myself just 

“Your Friend." 

A sigh escaped Johnny as he handed back the 
letter. 

“Well, what do you make of it?” Molly asked 
earnestly. 

The boy could only shake his head. Here was 
the final proof of the dead man’s interest in the 
girl Johnny loved. What lay in back of it was 
still a closed book, but certainly Traynor had felt 
himself close to her. 



124 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


His death may have been without connection 
with his proposed intention to see Molly, but 
Johnny just could not believe it. 

There was old Kent’s attitude toward Johnny; 
the whole sorry business at Standing Rock; the 
bickering; the stupidity of men who were solid 
citizens. 

Was it all a play, a staged show to block 
justice? 

The boy tried to close his eyes to the pictures 
his sorely puzzled brain conjectured, but in spite 
of every resolve an inner voice kept on dinning 
in his ears: ‘‘Jackson Kent killed this man! Hired 
it done! Paid for it!” 

But why? Molly’s mother? What other rea¬ 
son could a rich man have for ordering a crime 
of this sort? 

It was not to be supposed that Johnny’s excite¬ 
ment would escape Molly’s eyes. In comparison 
she was less nervous than he. 

“Are you reading something between the lines?” 
she demanded. “Your face is white.” 

“Miss Molly, how long have you been 
waiting?” 



MOLLY EXPLAINS 


125 


“On and off since eleven. But tell me, shouldn’t 
I have come? Don’t be mysterious that way, 
Johnny. You actually frighten me.” 

“No harm in coming,” he told her. He was 
only marking time. Johnny knew that he would 
have to tell some part of what had happened to 
the man who had written her this letter. “Can 
you make a guess as to who wrote that note?” 
he went on, still playing against the minutes. 

“Why, no. I haven’t the slightest memory of 
my mother. And I do believe the man was what 
he claimed to be.” 

“He was,” Johnny answered succinctly. “What 
you intendin’ doin’ now?” 

“I thought I’d wait here the rest of the after¬ 
noon.” 

Now he had to tell her. 

“No use doin’ that, little girl. No use at all.” 

Johnny’s manner brought the girl to her feet. 

“What are you saying?” she asked falteringly. 

“He won’t come.” The words left the boy’s 
lips slowly. “The man you’re waiting for is 
dead!” 



CHAPTER XIII. 

“he is my friend!” 

Call it intuition, a sixth sense, or what you 
will, a feeling of loss which she could not explain 
gripped Molly Kent. That Crosbie Traynor was 
dead was tragic; that he had been killed was even 
more of a shock, but it did not account for the 
grief which choked her. 

Johnny told himself he had never been more 
witless. Why had he been so abrupt? For the 
first time in his life he saw tears in Molly Kent’s 
eyes, and questions which he would have to 
answer. But even though he knew that she 
would have the facts from him, he still sought to 
withhold them. This, of course, because he saw 
no way of telling the complete truth without put¬ 
ting the girl’s father under suspicion. 

In twenty minutes Johnny managed to become 
so involved that a child would have known that 

he was telling less than half of what he knew. 

126 


HE IS MY FRIEND! 


127 


It definitely added to Molly’s misery. Also, it 
awakened in her a sense of shrewdness which 
left Johnny helpless. 

“Just what did all this have to do with your 
leaving the Diamond-Bar?” she asked flatly. 

Johnny stumbled over his answer. “Why—er 
—nothin’,” he drawled. 

Molly nodded her head sagaciously. She was 
not fooled. 

“I knew it,” she said decisively. “You’ve been 
telling me only half the truth. You were too pain¬ 
fully careful not to mention father’s name. Your 
quarrel had something to do with Mr. Traynor’s 
death.” 

Johnny hung his head, afraid to meet her eyes, 
or else he would have seen the girl’s face pale. 

“Tell me, Johnny,” she said with a queer little 
quaver in her voice, “is father in trouble?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Well, go on,” she prompted. 

The boy sighed heavily, continuing to look 
away. 

“I didn’t want to say nothin’ ’bout our run-in,” 
said he. “Now you’re thinkin’ all sorts of things, 



128 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


and I got to tell you. Old Aaron’s a fool, and he 
tried to shut me up. Couldn’t do it, though. Then 
the boss came in and sided with him. That riled 
me, seein’ as how the man couldn’t have killed 
hisself. I made some talk about findin’ out who 
did the killin’, and I was told pretty plain that I 
could either punch cattle or quit, that the Dia¬ 
mond-Bar wasn’t payin’ wages to have me goin’ 
around snoopin’ into what didn’t concern me 
none.” 

“I can just hear father saying that,” Molly 
declared. “You’ve got to forgive him, Johnny. 
He’s so old; and he worries so lately. He helped 
to elect Mr. Gallup. Naturally he couldn’t go 
back on him. Honestly, you had me worried. I 
just couldn’t imagine what had happened. Don’t 
look so glum. I’ll see that father asks you to 
come back.” 

Johnny raised his head at that. 

“No,” he said positively. “I wouldn’t do that. 
A girl couldn’t understand it, I guess; but I’ll 
never ride for Diamond-Bar again.” 

“Because of a few hot words?” Molly stopped 
abruptly, her eyes holding Johnny’s. “Or else—” 



HE IS MY FRIEND! 


129 


A shiver cascaded down the boy’s spine as he 
waited for her to finish, “or else you think that 
he cut you short because he had something to do 
with Mr. Traynor’s death. Is that what you 
think?” 

Johnny’s face worked convulsively as he strove 
for an honest answer. 

“I don’t know what I think,” he said at last. 
“Whenever I lie to you it’s because I want to save 
you from somethin’ I know’d hurt you. I’d steal 
for you, Molly Kent; I’d lie and do ’most any¬ 
thin’, but when you ask me a straight question like 
that, I’ve got to shoot square. I tell you I don’t 
know what I think!” 

“Oh, Johnny, Johnny! You can’t mean that! 
You don’t think that my father could have killed 
that man? Why, he’s been the salt of the earth 
to me. No one has ever had to complain of him. 
You know what the last two winters have been, 
and the price of steers ’way down. It’s been two 
years of loss for him, and he’s too old to take 
it with a grin. He has been short with Hobe, 
but Hobe overlooks it. He understands. But 
you, Johnny—you suspect him—and of this. 



130 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Aw-w-w!” A sob broke from her lips. “And 
I had such faith in you, Johnny,” she muttered 
distractedly. “Do you want to break my heart?” 

“Oh, please, Molly, don’t—don’t let it matter,” 
pleaded Johnny, the misery in his soul causing his 
voice to quaver. “What difference does it make 
what I think?” 

“I’ll be as honest as you,” Molly answered with 
a straightening of her lips. “It means my happi¬ 
ness. Do you think I could let you go away 
carrying that thought? You are no fool, Johnny 
Dice. Something more definite than anything 
you’ve told me planted that ugly thought in your 
mind. I want to know what it was. Don’t say 
you can’t tell me. Whatever you say won’t shake 
my faith in my father. Jackson Kent’s name is 
respected from one side of this State to the other. 
It’s not to defend him that I implore you to speak. 
I want you set right. This letter proves nothing. 
Mr. Traynor may have had many enemies. That 
he wanted to see me to satisfy an old man’s whim 
was undoubtedly just the merest coincidence. That 
in itself could not put my father under suspicion. 
Could it?” 



‘HE IS MY FRIEND! 


“I ain’t said that,” the unhappy Johnny replied. 
“It’s just my foolishness.” 

Glancing at Molly, he saw that she was re¬ 
reading the letter. 

“Tell me,” she demanded, “why did he ask me 
to keep away from the shipping pens? I’d have 
no reason for going there.” 

“I thought about that, too. It’s beyond me. 
All I know is that he was coming back here to-day. 
Dan Secor told me that. He’d fixed a gun for 
Traynor. Said he’d be back on the sixth.” 

“The sixth—the sixth of October!” 

The letter fluttered to the floor from the girl’s 
fingers as, white of face, she sprang to her feet. 

“Johnny!” she cried. “Oh, dear God! Don’t 
you see it—don’t you understand? The Diamond- 
Bar has begun shipping from Winnemucca on the 
sixth of October for three years. That is why 
he didn’t want me to go to the pens. He thought 
father would be there.” 

In a flash Johnny caught Traynor’s idea. If, 
as the boy had every reason to suspect, old Kent 
was the man Traynor had come to square accounts 
with, then he had the answer to the man’s every 



132 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


movement for a week before his death. That is, 
of course, excepting those two mysterious days 
on the Reservation. This coming back to Winne- 
mucca was for three purposes: to see the girl, to 
settle with Kent, and, obviously, to replenish his 
funds, inasmuch as the letters from Flagstaff were 
from a Flagstaff bank. 

Traynor had told Vinnie, the Basque, that he 
would not stay the night in Standing Rock. His 
one idea was to get back to Winnemucca by the 
sixth. Going on this thought, Johnny saw 
that the man’s presence in Standing Rock had been 
but incidental to his return nere. But he had 
been seen. Kent must have kept out of his way, 
and after, or during supper, had slipped up to 
Traynor’s room and shot him. 

Wasn’t there sense in every line of this reason¬ 
ing? Didn’t all of the dozen and one little inci¬ 
dents since the crime confirm the facts? 

Johnny wondered if he would find out anything 
in Elk Valley among the Indians, to make him 
change his mind. The evidence he held was cir¬ 
cumstantial. Sometimes it lies. No matter. There 
was nothing left for him to do but to go through 



‘HE IS MY FRIEND! 


i 33 


with this huht, make the trip to Elk Valley and 
keep his own counsel. In no other way could he 
serve Molly better. 

He had bungled things or else he would have 
avoided this scene with her. Her excitement and 
nervousness were due to him. 

He detested himself for having alarmed her. 
Instead of the pleasant half hour he had looked 
forward to, he had frightened and hurt her. The 
thing to do now was to still any rising suspicion 
she might have and get her started for home. So 
he made small of Molly’s deductions. 

“Traynor may have been a friend of your fa¬ 
ther’s,” he said to her. “Or again just another 
coincidence. As you rightly said, things like that 
don’t prove a thing. Wasn’t nothin’ else planted 
a doubt in my mind, and I see how downright 
senseless it was now.” 

“Are you being honest with me, Johnny?” 

“Of course. Why don’t you take the night train 
to Argenta? Matt will see that you git home. 
Won’t be no trouble sendin’ your horse out to 
the ranch.” 



134 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“I guess that would be the best thing to do. 
But you, Johnny, what are you going to do? 

“Goin’ over to the Injun country to-morrow.” 

“Elk Valley? What strange business is taking 
you there? ” 

“Crosbie Traynor. I aim to find out who killed 
him. He was on the Reservation two days just 
before he came into the Rock. I reckon I’ll find 
out who had it in for him over there. I owe it to 
you to clear up this thing.” 

“I wish I could go with you, but of course 
I can’t. Will you go in by the way of the ranch? 
It’s not much farther than by way of the North 
Fork.” 

It was on Johnny’s tongue to say: “Of course* 
if you want me to,” but hadn’t old Jackson Kent 
warned him off? Rebellion began to surge in 
Johnny’s soul. Kent confronted him at every turn. 
And this would continue to happen. It began to 
dawn upon the boy that things indeed were at a 
pretty pass. It was squarely up to him to decide 
those little questions of conduct by which he would 
either win or lose Molly Kent. She was the stake. 

Johnny knew that the old man would use any 



“HE IS MY FRIEND! 


end to turn the girl against him. So, naturally, 
he asked himself what he had to gain by walking 
wide of the old cattleman. To defy her father 
might turn the girl against him. Johnny wondered. 
Surely Molly would like him less if he turned tail 
and ran. Yes, that was the correct answer, pro¬ 
vided he considered himself as only an undesirable 
suitor. But just how much did that enter into the 
break between them? 

To be frank, didn’t Jackson Kent see in him 
his accuser, the man whom he feared? Therefore, 
Traynor’s death had to be explained before he 
could hope for fair play from Kent. And Johnny 
was too pessimistic to believe that when solution 
of the murder had been achieved it would prove 
anything other than the old man’s guilt. Knowl¬ 
edge of that sort would not heal the breach. They 
would go to their death bitter enemies. 

Knowing Molly for the girl she was Johnny 
realized that she would never go back on her 
father. The boy’s teeth sank into his lips. He 
saw now just how hopeless his dreams were. 
There was a barrier between Molly and him 
which could never be removed. 



136 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


His head snapped back at the thought. Well, 
if it was written that he had to lose her, he at 
least would go down lighting. To hell with Jack- 
son Kent! He was her father, but he was also a 
man. They were two men facing each other, 
fighting for her love. Kent was old, but his money 
and his power made it a fair fight. Let it ride! 

Molly little guessed the thoughts racing through 
Johnny’s mind or understood the tenseness of his 
voice as he answered her. 

“Why,” he said slowly, “I’ll stop at the Dia¬ 
mond-Bar if you want me to.” 

“No, you won’t!” came a startling interrup¬ 
tion; “the last word I said to you was ‘git!’ 
Keep off the Diamond-Bar! I might ’a’ known 
I’d find you here fillin’ my girl’s head with your 
schemes and nonsense. I told you before to git, 
and I tell it to you now! Go! ” 

Kent’s wrinkled face was crimson as he thun¬ 
dered on, and Molly’s knees shook at his sudden 
appearance. Johnny’s eyes narrowed angrily at 
the old man. How long he had been there in the 
doorway the boy did not know. He must have 
crept up the stairs. 



HE IS MY FRIEND! 


137 


Beseechingly, Molly held out her arms to her 
father. 

“Please, father” she entreated, “don’t make 
a scene! Are you mad? You didn’t have to steal 
upon us in this fashion. Whatever difference of 
opinion there is between you two, it doesn’t call 
for this sort of conduct.*’ 

“So even you turn against me, eh? He’s 
poisoned your mind against me !” 

“Stop ! You don’t know what you are saying.” 

“I do! He’s a treacherous leopard, the-” 

Molly’s cheeks were the color of chalk. With 
clenched fists held to her breasts she threw back 
her head and hurled her defiance at the old man. 

“No!” she cried, her head thrown back. “No 
one, father, not even you, can speak like that to 
me. Johnny Dice is my friend! I’d trust him with 
my life!” 




CHAPTER XIV. 


FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL. 

Something sang in the heart of Johnny Dice. 
The one being in the world who mattered had 
faith in him. The impulse to take her into his 
arms at this moment almost overcame him. He 
had seen Molly Kent under varied circumstances, 
but never so superb as now. She was all woman; 
mature where Johnny had believed her mere girl. 
The sight of her so aroused, so alive, thrilled him 
in a manner quite new. 

Whatever had gone before was as nothing now. 
Life began here. Down through the years his 
memories of Molly Kent would date from this 
moment, so utterly did his spirit bend to worship 
her. 

It had needed a moment as dramatic as this 
to awaken the boy to the enormity of his loss 
should he lose her. 

And, although he was enraged, Jackson Kent’s 
138 


FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 139 


eyes had been opened, too. He saw the abyss 
yawning at his feet, and an abyss it was, indeed— 
the losing of his girl! Death was trivial be¬ 
side it. Old age was upon him and it frightened 
Jackson Kent to the very marrow to consider the 
future, robbed of Molly’s great love. And it 
would get to that if this man came between them. 

In his day Kent had held himself a hard man, 
cold, unemotional; asking affection of none. But, 
as so often happens with men of his type, he gave 
when he least suspected it, and now that the tide 
had set the other way he knew his need. Often 
he had fooled himself into worshiping his money. 
His false god mocked him. 

His hungry heart needed Molly, not money! 
And he swore that he would have her; that Johnny 
Dice should never see her again. Had the fool 
bewitched the girl? Wait until she heard how he 
had been caught skulking in her room. Yes, and 
his insolence at the Rock; she’d resent that. There 
was good steel in Molly. This Dice person would 
find that the Kents stuck together! 

And, oh, how he hated Johnny! Anger surged 
through his brain in blinding waves until his 




140 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


withered old body trembled. Had he been at all 
apoplectic, Jackson Kent would have been stricken 
dead. 

Poor Molly winced as she regarded him. She 
had insisted on fair play, but without intending 
to wound her father. What had got into folks 
lately to make them fly at each others’ throats in 
this fashion? Thoroughly distressed, she said: 

“Father, I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean 
to be impertinent.” 

The old man unbent readily enough. 

“No matter,” he said, opening his arms to her. 
“I’m not angry with you. This man here is the 
person I’ve got my quarrel with. You look tired, 
nervous. I’ll get you a room and you go and lie 
down for a spell. When you’re rested up we’ll 
go home. Anythin’ we’ve got to say to each other 
we can say when we’re alone.” 

“Maybe that is best; but while the three of 
us are here, father, I want to ask you one ques¬ 
tion. Did you know Crosbie Traynor?” 

The suddenness of the question startled Johnny. 
He thought he saw the old man sway and strug¬ 
gle for breath even as his head shook his denial 



FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 141 


of any knowledge of the dead man. The next 
instant there was a grim smile on Kent’s lips. It 
made Johnny, who knew not the cost of it, open 
his eyes still wider. 

“Traynor?” Kent questioned. “Crosbie Tray- 
nor? No, I never heard of him. Is he a friend 
of this man?” 

The question was ingenious. Johnny recovered 
his tongue in time to answer for himself. 

“I don’t know anythin’ about him to make me 
ashamed to call him friend.” 

“Your standard ain’t high,” snapped the old 
man. “A person who’ll go snoopin’ round a 
girl’s bedroom ain’t likely to pick his friends care¬ 
fully.” 

The inference was too thinly veiled to escape 
Molly. 

“Explain yourself, father. What do you 
mean?” 

“You bet I’ll explain. He knows what I mean. 
I figured he wouldn’t be sayin’ anythin’ about that 
to you. I caught him red-handed, I tell you. 
Snoopin’ in your room, where no man has ever 
set his foot—not even me. Wa’n’t anybody to 



142 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


home but the Chink and Hughie. Just the chance 
he was lookin’ for. Am I lyin’?” he demanded 
of Johnny. 

The boy’s cheeks were scarlet! Molly was 
staring at him amazedly. With a clicking of syl¬ 
lables Johnny’s answer leaped from his lips: 

“Since you speak of it, tell her the whole 
truth!” 

“That’s what I intend!” Turning to Molly 
the old man said: “When I surprised him, he 
made a lot of talk about bringin’ you a present. 
Ain’t no need of a forty-dollar-a-month cow- 
punch spendin’ his money bringin’ you presents, 
and lookin’ for some favor in return. Ain’t 
nothin’ money would buy that I’ve ever refused 
you.” 

Molly tried to protest, but the old man waved 
her down. 

“Don’t tell me I’m puttin’ it too strong. He’s 
got his eye set on you; told me so to my face.” 

Kent saw bitter tears flood the girl’s eyes, but 
he went on. 

“This is all true talk, Molly,” he asserted. 
“Look at the man—he may be a romantic figure 



FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 143 


In your eyes, seein’ you’re so young, but I’m tellin’ 
you that nine months a year he’s flat broke 1 It’d 
take him three months to earn the price of the 
dress you’re wearin’. I ain’t raised you careful- 
like, givin’ you every advantage a girl ought to 
have to see you waste yourself on a forty-dollar 
man!” 

Level-eyed now, Molly searched the faces of 
the two men before her. Johnny Dice had spoken 
no word of love to her. Yes, but love was not a 
thing of words. It was something that came to 
life of its own volition, and grew and grew until 
it caught the hearts of men and women in a vise. 
Only when it had made its presence known would 
retrospection reveal the hundred little ways in 
which it had sought to announce itself from the 
very beginning. 

Molly was permitted such a moment. What 
she beheld left her body trembling. Was this 
love ? Did she love Johnny Dice ? The thought 
had never occurred to her before. Was this feel¬ 
ing of comradeship, this boy and girl friendship, 
love? At least the thought was not unpleasant to 
her. Poor he might be, but Johnny was too much 



144 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


a man to be unworthy of love. The more she 
thought of it the greater became the tug on her 
heart. Anger, resentment, all her other emotions 
were blotted out. Even her insistence on fair 
play between the two men became less vital to 
the girl. 

Whether she knew it or not, Molly was taking 
sides. And, as women have done down through 
the ages, she turned from her own to champion 
the man who desired her. She was no longer the 
judge, but the counsel for the defense. 

“Were you better off at his age, father?” she 
asked. 

Kent must have sensed the widening between 
them, for he answered almost surlily: “Times 
have changed. What was good enough for me 
ain’t good enough for you. Did he show you 
the picture of you he’s got in his pocket? Your 
picture—carryin’ it around!” 

“Why, no, father. I can’t believe it. I haven’t 
had a picture taken in years.” 

“Well, it was years since this one was took. 
You know the one you’ve got framed and hanging 
beside your door? He’s got a copy of it. I 



FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 145 


asked him for it. I don’t want my little girl’s 
picture goin’ the rounds of the cow camps. He 
wouldn’t give it up. Said he’d ask you if he could 
keep it. He didn’t, did he? Made some wild 
talk about its belonging to a dead man.” 

“Dead man!” The words chilled the girl. 

She turned questioningly to Johnny. With ris¬ 
ing suspicion she saw the boy nod his head in 
answer to the interrogation in her eyes. 

“Let me see it!” she demanded, stretching 
out her hands toward Johnny, who was drawing 
the picture from his pocket. 

One glance at it was enough for the girl. 

“Father!” she exclaimed. “It is my picture.” 

“Of course,” the old man snapped. “Ask him 
how he came by it.” 

“Johnny, tell me,” Molly cried, “what does 
it all mean? What is this talk of ‘dead man’? 
From whom did you get this picture?” 

And now Johnny faced Kent. 

“From Crosbie Traynor,” said the boy. 

“From Crosbie Traynor,” Molly repeated 
slowly. 

The old man’s smile failed him this time. He 



146 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


choked over his words as he fought to repress 
his excitement. “Traynor! Traynor!” he cried 
at last. “What’s all this talk of him?” 

Molly was sobbing. 

“Father, father,” she murmured, “I’m so 
afraid, so frightened. This picture, this letter, 
death, murder—what does it mean, what does it 
mean?” 

The letter crinkled in Kent’s bony hands as 
he tried to hold it steady enough to read it. He 
seemed to sicken as he read; lines came into his 
face; he breathed with difficulty; with shaking 
hands he clutched at his collar to loosen it. 

As the button snapped under the strain and his 
hand came away he flashed a glance at the boy. 
Quick, ferretlike, it was. 

Johnny’s face was wooden. Even his eyes were 
emotionless. For the moment Molly was uncon¬ 
scious of his presence. Dumbly she stared at 
the older man. She saw him sink into a chair, 
gasping for breath; but she did not run to his side 
to comfort him. Something unexplainable made 
her draw back. And she knew that she did, and 
the knowledge crucified her. A blush of shame 



FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 147 


mounted to her cheeks—that she could watch the 
misery of her own and be untouched by it. And 
she felt herself urged on. This was not yet the 
end. 

“Father,” she heard herself saying, “do you 
understand that reference to my not going near 
the shipping pens? The Diamond-Bar shipped 
from here on the sixth last year and the year be¬ 
fore. Mr. Traynor thought you would be there. 
Please don’t lie to me, father. You can’t deny 
that you knew this man.” 

Seconds slipped by, with Kent’s spasmodic 
breathing the only sound to break the stillness. 

At last the old man spoke. 

“No, Molly,” he said with an effort. “I can’t 
deny it any longer. I knew Traynor. You’ve 
never heard his name on my lips before. Your 
mother knew him, too. God forbid that you 
should. Trouble always followed him. He was 
such another as this man here. He made my life 
a hell. I didn’t want anythin’ but to keep out of 
his way. I never expected to see him again. A 
skunk is always a skunk. I’m glad he’s dead!” 



148 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Then you recognized him the other night in 
Standing Rock, eh?” Johnny asked. 

“Of course!” 

“Well, why didn’t you admit it?” 

“Are you dumb enough to ask that? Do you 
think I wanted my girl’s name mixed up with a 
killin’? Ain’t no Kent goin’ to be mixed up like 
that. Me and mine stay clean. Let the dead 
take care of themselves. No one but you figured 
he’d been killed. Plain enough he did it himself. 
He was that kind. If he figured on meetin’ me 
here, it was to make a touch. But he’s dead now 
and he’ll stay dead. He’s gone where he’ll never 
put the tongues of folks on my child. Whether 
he killed himself or was murdered makes no dif¬ 
ference to me.” 

“Justice don’t mean anythin’ to you, eh?” 

“You’ve known me for nigh on ten years. You 
can take your own answer to your question from 
that. Traynor was a lowdown, ornery reptile. 
He didn’t get less than his deserts!” 

Johnny shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he said grimly, “but I don’t be¬ 
lieve you. I’ll have my own answer before I’m 



FOR THE HEART OF A GIRL 149 


through. No act or word of mine will bring any 
harm to your daughter. Her good opinion of me 
is the most precious thing I possess. I aim to 
keep it. I can’t figure any easier way to lose it 
than to let her think I’m two-faced. I finish what 
I start! You’ve made me look small with your 
talk and insinuations. If I didn’t tell her about 
the picture and of my own run-in with you, it was 
because I knew she was too upset to hear it now. 
But I said I’d ask her—and I’m doin’ it this 
minute.” 

Johnnie turned his back on the old man and 
came close to Molly’s side. 

“You’ve heard it all, Molly,” said Johnny. 
“You know what I’m askin’—I want to keep 
that picture. Am I fit to have it?” 

Without looking up, Molly handed the picture 
to him. It was a confession of faith well cal¬ 
culated to arouse the best in the boy. 

“And about my cornin’ to the ranch,” he went 
on. “ If you asked me to come to-morrow I’d 
come, and nothin’ wouldn’t stop me. But I can’t 
see that it would serve any purpose. From now 
on I go alone. Even Tony stays behind. As it is, 



150 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


I’ve not been frank with him. What I find out 
no one but me ’ll know. If there’s talk you’ll 
know who to blame. If ever you want me, you 
get word to the Basque; he’ll find me. And— 
good-bye” 

He was gone; nor did he hear the girl’s softly 
murmured answer. 



CHAPTER XV. 


MADEIRAS GETS A CHANCE. 

Molly had quite forgotten that the Langwell 
girls had arranged a bridge party for her that 
afternoon. When three o’clock passed and their 
guest had not returned, Miss Sue Langwell set 
out to find her. 

Bridge was remote from Molly’s mind, but 
Sue’s interruption was welcomed by old Jackson 
and he urged the girl to run along. Molly, with 
pardonable caution, tried to conceal her distraught 
condition and keep from her friend’s eyes any 
inkling of what had occurred. To succeed, she 
allowed herself to be carried off. 

With gratitude in his heart, Kent watched the 
two girls ride away in Sue’s car. It effectually 
put an end to talk. There had been too much of 
that already this day. So while Molly played 
cards and the old man sought forgetfulness in 


152 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


the doing of purely routine business, Johnny 
talked to old Dan Secor. 

Dan had exhausted himself at noon, so Johnny 
went back to Tony. 

Madeiras was in a bad humor. He had been 
waiting these many hours for Johnny and felt 
himself slighted, left out of something. 

Your Basque is thin-skinned and quick to re¬ 
sent a fancied hurt. 

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asked. 

“Too much,” replied Tony. “For why I come 
wit’ you? I don’ lak theese bus’ness, always be 
left behin’.” 

The last hour had frayed Johnny’s nerves. The 
Basque’s petulance found him without the patience 
to accept it for what it was. “Don’t ride me, 
Tony,” he grumbled. “I know what I’m doin’.” 

“Si! But Madre de Dios, I be dam’ eef I do P ; 

“Ain’t you willin’ to follow my lead? When 
you stay back, it’s because it’s best you do. We 
ain’t on no picnic. Things may break so that 
you’ll go on and I’ll stay behind.” 

“I guess you no stay behin’ much, Johnny.” 

“Well, you threw up your job for me. We 



MADEIRAS GETS A CHANCE 153 


stick till this thing’s over and we’ve caught on 
somewhere else.” 

“Those job mean not’ing. Tony Madeiras 
always get job. 

“Then what in hell’s on your mind?” 

The Basque grinned. He was getting a little 
action at last. “Maybe,” he said bombastically, 
“Tony Madeiras mak’ good deetecteeve, too. But 
how I know. I don’t get no chance.” 

“Just what is it that you want to do?” de¬ 
manded Johnny. 

“Mebbe I go ask Kent for my job. Mebbe 
somet’ing happen on the Diamond-Bar. Mebbe 
that old fool t’ink I go back on you, eh? Then 
Tony Madeiras use hees nose and hees eyes.” 

“Good Lord!” Johnny cried as he banged 
the table. “You’re elected—unanimously! I’m 
goin’ to Elk Valley in half an hour. You stay 
behind. Kent’s still here. Meet him. Let him 
see that you’ve turned me down. He’ll jump at 
the chance to hire you on. Miss Molly ’ll hate 
you. Play it out, though. If you think you ought 
to see me, come to the Reservation. The agent 
will know where I am.” 



154 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Tony’s good nature blossomed again. Intrigue 
held a peculiar bouquet for the Basque. Danger, 
adventure—hadn’t his race answered to them for 
centuries? 

Ten minutes later Johnny came downstairs 
by himself. A drink, and a farewell nod to 
Whitey, the bartender, and he was off. 

Kent saw him go, and followed his progress 
until the boy was lost in the dust and heat waves 
dancing about the base of Winnemucca Moun¬ 
tain. Turning back to the hotel office the old man 
saw Tony. The Basque was pounding upon the 
desk for the clerk. “How much I owe theese 
place?” he demanded. 

“Not a cent. Your pal paid the bill.” 

“Johnny Dice, he’s no pal wit’ me,” the Basque 
announced angrily. “Remember this: Tony 
Madeiras pay hees own way.” 

He knew that Kent was listening, but he never 
glanced in the cattleman’s direction. Instead, he 
stamped into the bar and ordered a drink. There 
he poured into Whitey’s ear the story of his break 
with Johnny. 

“You t’ink I stay behin’, me? No! lama 



MADEIRAS GETS A CHANCE 155 


Madeiras. I belong up front, you bat my life 
on that.” 

Head erect, Tony started for the door. Kent 
was waiting for him. When the Basque reached 
the sidewalk the old man stopped him. 

“What’s all this talk?” he demanded. 

“I’m t’rough wit’ Johnny Dice,” the Basque 
said explosively. “I lose my job for heem. He 
say we catch man what keel those fellow at the 
Rock. How I catch heem, when all the time I’m 
tol’ to keep shut up—don’ say not’ing, don’ do 
not’ing. Valgame Dios! You t’ink Tony Ma¬ 
deiras ees dam fool?” 

“You’ve acted like it,” old Kent declared. 
“Winter’s cornin’ on; you had a good job, but 
you threw it up for a harum-scarum kid. Didn’t 
take you long to find out where you stood with 
him, did it? Smart Alecks don’t go far. Guess 
you’ll learn.” 

“I learn pretty dam’ good, all right,” Tony 
admitted. “Now I go look for job.” 

“You won’t find the lookin’ too good,” the 
boss of the Diamond-Bar assured him. 

“Well, Tony Madeiras ees good vaquero. No 




156 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


man deny that. Mebbe you tak’ me on again, 
eh?” 

Kent was no fool. He had felt this question a 
full half minute before it was asked. He was 
only too glad to get the man; but he shrewdly 
forced the Basque to his knees. 

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “We don’t 
need men till spring. If I did take you on, chances 
are you’d be flyin’ up and walkin’ off first time 
you felt like it. If a man is workin’ for me, he’s 
workin’ for me. I don’t have to put up with the 
sort of nonsense you and that slipper-tongue tried 
to run on me.” 

“Mebbe I’m beeg fool once, but not beeg fool 
twice.” 

“If you mean it,” Kent said dictatorially, 
“you’re on. You got your horse and stuff here, 
ain’t yuh? Well, git my girl’s pony and head, 
for the ranch. I’ll be there before you come.” 

It was the old man’s intention to take the train 
for Argenta that evening, and drive to the ranch 
from there. He wondered what Molly would 
say when she learned of Tony’s return to the Dia¬ 
mond-Bar fold. The thought was uppermost in 



MADEIRAS GETS A CHANCE 157 


his mind as he left the hotel. He had Johnny 
“on his own” now, and Kent felt that he had 
gained a definite advantage. 

Long before he met Molly the old man had 
determined not to say a word about the incident 
to her. If he did she would be apt to resent 
his hiring the Basque. Let her find out for her¬ 
self. It wouldn’t hurt to have her hear Johnny 
Dice’s shortcomings retailed by other lips than his. 

Molly and the Langwell girls came for Kent 
at six and carried him off to the Langwell home 
for supper. Molly seemed in better spirits and 
old Jackson felt relieved. He tried to inveigle 
the girls into accompanying them to the Diamond- 
Bar. They begged off for this time. 

Molly guessed the reason in back of the invi¬ 
tation. With the Langwell girls on hand there 
would have been little or no chance for a resump¬ 
tion of the scenes of this afternoon. It would 
have only delayed matters. Molly intended to 
know more about Crosbie Traynor before the 
subject was dropped. 

The ride to Aqgenta took but little time. The 
drive to the ranch, however, was a matter of some 



SMOKE OF THE .45 


158 

three hours. The old man outdid himself in 
trying to keep Molly’s mind far from Johnny 
Dice and the dead man. He exhausted himself 
before the ranch was reached, and dreaded the 
remaining miles. Molly, however, surprised him 
by not once referring to the subject which ob¬ 
sessed both of them. It was not delicacy on the 
girl’s part which made her hold her tongue. She 
had heard more than enough for the present. It 
was her way to ponder over a matter for a day 
or two. Questions would be asked and she would 
be answered, but not to-night. 



CHAPTER XVI. 


BITTER FRUIT. 

For all of the old man’s talk there was plenty 
to do on the Diamond-Bar. The men were back 
from the Rock, but early the following morning 
big Hobe had sent them off on various tasks so 
that life on the ranch moved as usual. 

Before noon Tony arrived. Molly’s eyes 
opened as she saw who it was that led her pony 
into the yard. A dozen questions leaped to her 
mind. She even looked about for Johnny. What 
could the Basque be doing here? 

Five minutes of heated conversation with Tony 
told her what she wanted to know. 

“As long as I live,” she advised him, “I shall 
never again trust a Basque. That Johnny 
wronged you unintentionally doesn’t enter into it. 
He thought so much of you. You were pals. 
Humph, pals! A pal sticks right or wrong.” 
Molly turned back to the house. “I hope your 
i 59 


i6o 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


horse throws you and breaks your wretched neck,” 
she hurled at him for a parting shot. 

Tony winced. He had received more than he 
had bargained for, but he was game. He clucked 
his tongue to show his utter contempt for Johnny 
Dice. 

Infuriated, Molly slammed the door behind 
her. The old man had seen this pass-at-arms, and 
although he had heard no word of it, he could 
guess what had been said. He promised himself 
that it was only the beginning. Before he was 
through Molly would be thoroughly disillusioned 
as far as Johnny Dice was concerned. 

Noontime brought two visitors to the Diamond- 
Bar—Aaron Gallup and his “ man Friday,” To¬ 
bias Gale. 

Aaron made a business of loaning money at six 
or seven per cent on first mortgages. Tobias saw 
to the details, such little matters as the rate, for 
instance. He was a Dickensian character, hum¬ 
ble to self-effacement, but always driving a hard 
bargain. More than one rancher in Ruby Valley 
had cause to regret Tobias. 

The man moved in an aura of gloom. His 



BITTER FRUIT 


161 

was a funereal appearance, clothes of ancient cut, 
once black, but long since faded to a dull bottle- 
green. His coming to a ranch-house was equiva¬ 
lent to the visit of the undertaker. No one knew 
his age, but if it were to be guessed from his 
wrinkled, mummified face one would have put 
him down for eighty. 

Tobias was a usurer, intended from birth for 
his present calling. Old Aaron had given him 
his opportunity and he rewarded the coroner with 
faithful service. 

Gallup no longer rode in a saddle. He had 
a weatherbeaten old buckboard and a pair of 
mean-eyed mustangs to get him about. This turn¬ 
out, when not in use by Aaron, served Tobias. 
So the rig and its span of ponies came to be as¬ 
sociated with bad luck, hard times and overdue 
interest money. That is, it did when only one of 
the precious pair adorned it. Whenever Aaron 
and Tobias appeared together it meant more than 
overdue payments; it spelled foreclosure! 

Jackson Kent thought of this as he caught sight 
of the two men. 



162 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Howdy?” Gallup called as he pulled up his 
team. 

“What are you two birds of prey doin’ here 
to-day?” Kent called jestingly as he walked out 
to the rig. “Ain’t come to foreclose?” 

Tobias cackled at his pleasantry. Gallup chose 
to be more serious. “Wouldn’t be so bold as that 
about it,” he said. “Just come to talk things over 
a little. Saw some of your boys a ways back. I 
seen Madeiras as we turned in. What’s he doin’ 
here?” 

“Back on his job,” Kent grinned. “He had 
more sense than you allowed him.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Gallup answered. “Where’s 
that rearin’, tearin’ Dice person? Bet he ain’t 
back.” 

“He’ll never git back! Where he is or what 
he’s doin’ don’t interest me. Hey, you, Charlie 
Paul!” Kent called to his Piute teamster. “Take 
care of this team.” 

The three men entered Kent’s office as the In¬ 
dian led away the horses. 

“Well, what you got on your mind, Aaron?” 
the cowman asked when they were seated. 



BITTER FRUIT 


163 

“Two or three things. Come to think of it, 
that remark of yours about foreclosin’ wa’n’t so 
wide of the mark, only it ain’t a matter of money 
—that is, not exactly—that I’m thinkin’ about. 
To be right truthful, Jackson, it’s a promise of 
yours I came to foreclose on.” 

“In regard to the notes?” 

“No-o-o. In regard to the girl.” 

“Molly?” 

“You guessed it. Last time I was here, some 
four months ago, you promised me you’d talk 
to her. I ain’t forgot how she treated me, but I 
don’t carry no grudges. I’m here to-day to ask 
her again.” 

Kent’s face fell as he heard the man declare 
himself. 

“Ain’t been four months, has it?” he asked. 

“Four months to the day,” Gallup stated. 
“That’s correct, ain’t it, Toby?” 

Aaron’s factotum nodded his head. 

“Don’t seem so long as that to me,” Jackson 
said unhappily. “Maybe we’d better talk this 
over just between the two of us,” he suggested. 



164 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“No-o-o. Toby knows my dark side. I ain’t 
got no secrets from him.” 

“Your dark side, eh?” Kent queried. “I’ve 
heard tell as how you were pretty well tanned all 
over, Aaron.” 

“No doubt. When a man owes you money, 
he can find a lot to tell about you. I don’t mean 
that personal. You know how it is—men borrow 
money and then they don’t want to pay it back. 
Makes a hard name for the folks what does the 
lendin’. Speakin’ of money, it just reminds me 
that I’ve got close to a hundred thousand dollars 
out on interest now. Toby can give you the exact 
figgers. That ought to make a little difference 
with the girl.” 

“Won’t make no difference with her,” Kent 
declared. “She’s always known her own mind; 
but even so, she’s changed since you saw her last. 
She defied me yesterday for the first time in her 
life. The girl’s bewitched. She thinks she’s in 
love with Johnny Dice.” 

“You ain’t tellin’ me any news,” Gallup mut¬ 
tered. “I been suspectin’ that this long time— 



BITTER FRUIT 


165 

another reason why I’m here to-day. You better 
tell her I’ve come. I want to talk to her.” 

Kent got to his feet uneasily. Biting the ends 
of his mustache he took a turn around his desk. 

“Man, I can’t do it!” he exclaimed at last. 
“This, on top of what we were through yesterday, 
will turn her against me for life.” 

“Well, Jackson, a promise is a promise. t You 
don’t want to forget that in more ways than one 
you owe this ranch to me. It was me who gave 
you a start. Whenever you needed help you’ve 
always come to me. I’m old, I know. I ain’t 
askin’ her to love me. Love is for young bucks. 

“I’m a man of means, now. Mrs. Aaron Gal¬ 
lup will be a somebody in this country long after 
I’ve cashed in. She’s got youth, she’s pretty, and 
that’s what I want. When we run down to Frisco 
folk ’ll turn and look twice at her; like as not 
they’ll have pictures in the papers, too, of her and 
me. We’ll let ’em know we’re somebody. And 
that’s what I want. It’s what I’ve been wantin’ 
all the years I’ve been savin’ pennies and cheatin’ 
myself out of things no man should be without.” 

“But it’s sellin’ her,” Kent groaned. “Sellin’ 



166 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


her like she was a slave. Maybe IVe been 
dreamin’ my dreams, too. What’s goin’ to hap¬ 
pen to me, an old man, without her? I’ve slaved 
and cheated myself even as you have. It was for 
her. Don’t smile at me like that. You’re hearin’ 
the truth. Damn it, I tell you, I’ll let you cut 
off my right arm before I’ll see her your wife.” 

“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Gallup 
drawled menacingly. “Right arms ain’t so 
precious. Maybe you’re forgettin’ that I’m hold¬ 
ing your paper for thirty thousand dollars. It’s 
overdue, too. The way the market is, don’t seem 
as if there’d be much chance of your payin’ up 
right off.” 

“The ranch is worth five times the amount I 
owe you.” 

“Of course, of course. Tobias consented to 
the loans, didn’t he? Toby don’t get over his 
head.” 

“Are you puttin’ it flat to me, then, that you 
git my girl, or else you foreclose on my paper?” 

“You understand me perfectly, Jackson.” 

“Well, then, foreclose, and to hell with you!” 
Kent roared, supreme for the moment. 



BITTER FRUIT 


167 


Gallup did not move, neither did his eyes leave 
Jackson’s face. A minute passed before he spoke. 

“Yes? You’re goin’ to make a pauper out of 
her, eh, so Dice can put himself in her class and 
run off with her? You’d better reconsider. Toby 
and me ’ll go outside and look around the place 
while you do.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 
gallup's price. 

Kent slunk into his chair as they left him. He 
had foreseen this day, but events had so happened 
since the steer-shipping as to leave his mind no 
time to worry about it. But now, by comparison, 
Johnny Dice and his evil genius seemed of minor 
importance. Not for a second did Kent think 
of begging off. He knew Gallup too well. 

Yes, and Gallup knew Jackson Kent. Five 
years before this he would not have dared to 
beard him as he had done this day. But Kent 
was no longer the man of old. The last two years 
had been too much for the cattleman. Every 
ounce of his energy had gone into fighting the 
perverse fate which lately seemed to pursue all 
cattlemen. 

So, while Kent drank the dregs of despair, 
Aaron and Tobias wandered about, confident that 
old Jackson would back down. What was left 


GALLUP’S PRICE 


169 


of the man’s fighting spirit might disintegrate 
slowly, but time would accomplish it. 

Half an hour sufficed—thirty minutes of life 
which Jackson Kent would never forget. Slow 
of step and heavy of heart he made his way to 
Molly’s room. 

The girl glanced sharply at him as she noted 
his nervousness. 

“We’ve got visitors,” the old man began. 

“Madeiras, you mean,” Molly exclaimed. 
“What is he doing here?” 

“Begged me for a job. Hobe needs him, so I 
let him come.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was the man 
you had found to bring out my pony?” 

“I don’t know, Molly. The two of us are at 
swords’ points all the time lately. I knew if l 
told you that Tony had broken with Dice, that 
you’d think I’d had somethin’ to do with it. The 
Basque came to me; I didn’t seek him out. But 
no matter, it ain’t Madeiras I’m referrin’ to now; 
it’s Gallup and Tobias Gale. Maybe you can 
guess what Gallup wants. It breaks my heart to 
tell you.” 



SMOKE OF THE .45 


170 


“Oh, father, father!” Molly cried. “Do I 
have to go through with that again? I promise 
you I’ll kill myself before I’ll marry that man.” 

“I begged off the last time he was here,” the 
old man wailed. “I can’t do it to-day. You don’t 
know it, but Gallup’s holdin’ my paper for thirty 
thousand dollars. It’s overdue. He’s demand¬ 
in’ his money or you. I told him to foreclose, 
and he laughed at me. He doesn’t want the 
money, little girl. It’s you he’s aimin’ to take 
away from me. 

“When he was here four months ago, I told 
him I’d try to talk you into marryin’ him. I 
hadn’t no intention of doin’ that. I figured prices 
were goin’ up and that come shippin’ time they 
be high enough to give me the cash to square up 
with him. The market didn’t go thata-way, 
though. Now he wants me to trade you like a 
slave so that I can keep the ranch. And that 
after tellin’ me he’s got over a hundred thousand 
out at from six per cent up. What am I goin’ 
to do? Tell me that, little girl, what am I goin’ 
to do?” 



GALLUP’S PRICE 


171 

The old man choked over his words, and turned 
his head away as tears filled his eyes. 

Unable to control herself, Molly threw her 
arms about his neck. “Buck up, father,” she 
pleaded. “Let me talk to him. He’ll not 
frighten me.” 

Molly was as good as her word. 

“Tell that man to leave the room,” she or¬ 
dered, pointing to Tobias. “What I have to say 
to you I’ll not say before him. Make him go I” 

Tobias went. 

“Now Aaron Gallup,” Molly rushed on, 
“just what have you come to say?” 

Aaron steeled himself for his answer. “I’ve 
come to ask you to marry me,” he said. 

“You have, eh? Have you forgotten what I 
told you the last time you were here? Do you 
think you are less unlovely to me to-day than you 
were then?” 

“Reckon not,” Aaron mumbled. “Looks ain’t 
my long suit. Looks in a man ain’t worth nothin’. 
It’s wimmen that needs looks—wimmen like you. 
You got looks enough for both of us.” 

“You are a fool!” the girl exclaimed angrily.\ 



172 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“No wonder Johnny Dice laughed at you. When 
he finds out who killed Crosbie Traynor he’ll show 
you out of Shoshone County for the imbecile that 
you are!” 

“Crosbie Traynor?” Aaron asked, eyes nar¬ 
rowing. 

“Yes, Crosbie Traynor! You didn’t even 
know the man’s name. Johnny has only begun. 
He won’t give up until he can prove who killed 
that man.” 

“So?” Aaron questioned provokingly. “You 
seem to be partial to Johnny Dice. Your father 
tells me you think you’re in love with him.” 

“Father knows more than I do if he told you 
that. But when I compare Johnny Dice with such 
as you I’m almost convinced that I do love him.” 

“Then I suppose you ain’t goin’ to listen to 
your father.” Gallup shook his head pityingly. 
“Too bad. He’s worked hard for you. It ’ll 
kill him to lose this place, and lose it he will if 
you keep on. Children ain’t like they used to be. 
Time was when a girl did as her father asked.” 

Molly turned questioningly to Jackson Kent 



GALLUP’S PRICE 


173 


“Father!” she queried. “Are you asking 
me to marry this man?” 

Jackson wiped his eyes. 

“I don’t know, Molly,” he said with a sigh. 
“Would it be too hard on yuh? Gallup’s got 
money; you’d have everything you’d want.” 

“So you would,” Aaron hastened to supple¬ 
ment. “I ain’t askin’ for love. I’d treat you 
kind. Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to seem ungrateful or be 
disloyal, or go back on my own flesh and blood; 
but in my heart I believe you are both against 
me. If I refuse to marry this man I condemn 
my father to poverty; and if I take him I con¬ 
demn my own soul. Oh, God, what am I to do?” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about my soul 
if I was you,” Aaron confided to her. “Souls have 
a way of takin’ care of themselves. They ain’t 
under any expense.” 

“What a fitting estimate of yourself, Aaron 
Gallup!” Molly cried scathingly. “No! I shall 
not marry you. Never! I will repay my father 
even as he paid me—with my youth. He toiled 
and slaved for me; I’ll do the same. If we lose 



174 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


the ranch I’ll work as no woman ever worked 
before—nothing shall be too hard for me; but I 
will not marry you!” 

Gallup got to his feet. “You think it over 
to-night,” he advised. “Your father ’ll see that 
you don’t run away. I’ll be back to-morrow for 
my answer. And I’ll have a deputy sheriff and a 
minister with me. It will be up to you to decide 
which man we’ll need.” 



tHAPTER XVIII. 

“kill him, the thief!” 

Late evening of the day on which he had left 
Winnemucca saw Johnny encamped on the North 
Fork for the night. Early the following morn¬ 
ing he breakfasted on trout and flap-jacks and 
essayed going over the hills in an airline to the 
Reservation. 

The creek was soon left behind. On the high 
rimrocks and hills above it there was no trail, 
and the boy spent tedious hours in picking out 
his way. At high noon he began dropping into 
the valley. 

He had no plan of procedure, so quite naturally 
he first made for the Agency. The Agent was 
not there; but he found Bill Ames, the post 
trader, at home. Bill had seen no strangers in 
the last week or two. Maybe Thunder Bird had. 
Indians never talked much. Johnny could ask 
i75 


176 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


him. The old chief and his sons were killing 
rabbits down below. 

Down below Johnny went. 

“How, chief?” he greeted the old man, a 
creature of unassailable dignity even in his rags. 
“You catch ’em rabbits, eh?” 

“Nah! Boy catch ’em. Me too old.” 

There was a note of resignation in the old 
chief’s answer quite beyond what the words them¬ 
selves convey. Men said that Thunder Bird re¬ 
membered the Forty-Niners and the Donner 
party. It might have been even as they said, for 
there was a look in the chief’s eyes as old as 
the beginning of time. 

Johnny spread his blanket and beckoned to 
the aged Indian to be seated. This formality ac¬ 
complished, the boy opened a tin of tobacco and 
poured its contents on to the blanket. With his 
fingers he divided it. Not in equal portions. Oh, 
no! As he originally poured the piles they were 
approximately even, but without glancing up the 
boy kept on transferring small pinches of the to¬ 
bacco from his own to the chief’s portion until 
Thunder Bird’s share was four times Johnny’s. 



KILL HIM, THE THIEF! 


177 


Then he produced cigarette papers, and from 
his share rolled cigarettes for the old man. To 
attempt to describe the expression on Thunder 
Bird’s face as he watched Johnny would be wasted 
effort. The chief’s hair was white, his face gaunt, 
shriveled; his jaws toothless; if such a combina¬ 
tion can mirror the innocence of childhood it was 
achieved in the old Piute. 

In back of him, at a respectable distance, Thun¬ 
der Bird’s squaw sat, expressionless, watching the 
dumb show. 

“He,” the old man grunted at last. “Mebbe 
you come look for mine this time.” 

“No look for mine, Thunder Bird. Look for 
stranger—white man. You see him on Reserva¬ 
tion last two moons?” 

The Indian did not answer for several minutes. 
Then: 

“No see um stranger.” 

“Rode a stallion, big horse—a roan,” Johnny 
persisted. 

“Spanish horse, eh?” 

“That’s it—Spanish.” 

“Mebbe I see um.” A pause, and then a shrug 



178 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


of the shoulders. “No can tell. Too old. Why 
you want um? Steal horse?” 

Johnny tried hard to conceal his impatience. 

“No steal ’em horse,” he answered. Johnny 
spread his fingers, palms up. “Him friend —un 
ladron le ha muerto!” 

“Ah, nah—dead?” 

For an instant the old chiefs eyes seemed to 
lose their guile. Johnny’s pulse quickened at 
what he thought was a note of concern in Thun¬ 
der Bird’s voice. 

“Dead,” he repeated. “Maybe you see him, 
Thunder Bird?” 

“Mebbe so boy see um,” the chief countered. 
“You come to-morrow, eh?” 

Johnny knew it would be useless to urge haste. 
To-morrow he would have his answer and not 
sooner. It would be an answer worth waiting 
for. If Thunder Bird had known Traynor and 
had had a hand in his death, then he would deny 
everything to-morrow. If Traynor had been his 
friend, the Indian would speak out. If neither 
of these suppositions were true, it followed that 
Thunder Bird’s runners would comb the Reser- 



“KILL HIM, THE THIEF! 


179 


vation. If Traynor had set foot in Elk Valley 
the Piute chief would know by morning. 

Johnny went back to the store to eat supper 
with the trader and to spend the evening in his 
company. Just before he reached the post he 
came face to face with Charlie Paul, Kent’s 
teamster. 

The Indian had come to the Reservation from 
the ranch, a distance of sixty miles, in less than 
four hours. A fair bit of riding when one con¬ 
siders the country over which he traveled. The 
effort left the man calm, unhurried. He had stolen 
away and surmised that he came on an urgent 
errand, but no trace of excitement was on his face. 

Molly had appeared soon after Gallup’s de¬ 
parture, and upon asking for her pony, had been 
told that she was not to leave the house. Angry 
words followed, and Molly, defying the old man, 
had set off at a brisk walk for the hills. 

Kent called to Madeiras to follow her and keep 
her in sight until she came home. The command 
to the Basque was enough to dissuade the girl. 
She preferred being locked in her room to being 



180 SMOKE OF THE .45 

spied upon by Madeiras. Later she became 
aware of the Basque’s presence on the porch out¬ 
side her window. Kent worked in his office, door 
open. Molly saw that she was a prisoner. And 
why a prisoner unless she was to be forced to 
marry Gallup ? 

This very day Molly had denied that she loved 
Johnny, but it was of him that she thought now. 
If any one could save her, he could. If she 
could get word to him, he’d come. 

It was the old man’s habit to fall asleep after 
dinner. The girl waited and listened for the 
sound of his asthmatic snoring. She had penned 
a note to Johnny. When she felt sure that the 
way to the rear of the house was open to her 
she crept out and found Charlie Paul. Her in¬ 
structions to him were brief and without any 
definite destination. Johnny was somewhere on 
the Reservation. Charlie Paul would know how 
to find him. 

Ten minutes later the Piute had streaked away 
from the Diamond-Bar. In the eyes of the law 
he had stolen the horse which he rode; his job 
was gone, and he was on the side of danger— 



“KILL HIM, THE THIEF!” 


181 


all of this just to repay the girl for the respect 
she had always shown him. Pretty good stuff, 
that, for an Indian. 

“Hello, you, Charlie Paul!” Johnny called. 
Charlie Paul smiled. “How?” he grunted. 
“Me find you.” 

“Find me? How come?” 

Charlie grinned as he handed Molly’s letter to 
Johnny. He was an Indian, but he knew a thing 
or two. 

Johnny lost his happy-go-lucky air as he read 
the following brief note: 

“Johnny: 

“I am a prisoner here at the ranch. Aaron Gallup came 
to-day. Father insists that I marry him. The man is 
coming back to-morrow with a minister. 

“Madeiras is here, too, the traitor! If Charlie Paul 
finds you I know you will come. “Molly ” 

“Good boy, you, Charlie Paul,” Johnny said 
warmly, laying a hand upon the Indian’s arm. 
“You savvy what’s up?” 

“Pretty well me savvy.” 

“Plenty fight cornin’,” Johnny told him. 
“Shots, kill maybe—all right, you?” 



i 82 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“All right, me,” Charlie said simply. 

“You got rifle?” the boy asked anxiously. 

“Me got um. On North Fork.” 

“Hideout, eh? Buried?” 

“He,” Charlie laughed mockingly. “I find 
um.” 

Indeed, Charlie Paul was no fool. White men 
were not taking away his gun. He had it where 
he could reach it when needed. 

“We go now?” the Indian asked. 

“No, Charlie. Horse too tired. Picket the 
ponies. We eat and sleep. Moonup we go. Save 
horses, keep him fresh. Breakfast time we come 
by ranch. Ride like hell then. You savvy?” 

“Me savvy.” 

For the time being Johnny gave up any thought 
of old Thunder Bird or Crosbie Traynor. He 
cursed aloud whenever he thought of Molly mar¬ 
ried to Gallup. Well, it would never come to 
pass. Not if he had to kill the man. 

After sundown they rode to the trader’s store 
and bought supplies enough to last them a week. 
Before twilight was over they were out of Elk 
Valley and heading for the North Fork. Sunup 



“KILL HIM, THE THIEF!” 183 

found them hovering close to the ranch. Rose 
Creek, a branch of the North Fork, flowed past 
the house. As usual with desert creeks, its course 
was marked by a screening of willows and buck¬ 
thorn. In this cover Johnny left Charlie Paul 
with their ponies and a led one which the Indian 
had obtained from the old chief. 

“A minute or two after the breakfast bells 
rings,” the boy told the Indian, “I’m goin’ to 
crawl up to the house. You stay here. You keep 
me in range. Some man may stop me. If I raise 
my hand—like this—you shoot. Right?” 

“Bueno” Charlie answered. “Like that”— 
he imitated Johnny’s signal—“and I shoot.” 

In a few minutes the Chinese cook rang his 
gong and the men began trooping from the bunk- 
house for their morning meal. Johnny waited 
no longer. On his hands and knees he began 
crawling through the sagebrush. 

Fifteen minutes later he had reached the front 
porch, the floor of which was a good foot above 
the ground. Noiselessly he crept beneath it. 
From this shelter he stuck out a long willow gad 



184 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


and began tapping on the window of Molly’s 
room. 

The girl had been awake most of the night, 
and it did not take long for this repeated tap¬ 
ping to draw her attention. 

“Johnny I” she gasped as she caught sight of 
the boy’s face protruding from the space below 
the porch. 

“Get dressed quickly!” he ordered. “Don’t 
take over ten minutes.” 

And, turtlelike, Johnny drew in his head and 
left Molly to jump into her clothes. She whistled 
to him softly when she was ready. 

“Come through the window,” he bade her. A 
second later she stood on the porch beside him. 

“Charlie’s in the willows with horses,” he said 
tersely. “You streak it now. I’ll stop them if 
they catch sight of you.” 

Just a clasp of the hands and she was gone. 
She had covered more than half of the distance 
to the creek before Johnny started to follow her. 
He had not taken twenty steps when the front 
door flew open and Kent dashed out, gun in hand. 




“KILL HIM, THE THIEF!” 185, 

“You freeze where you are or I’ll blow your 
head off!” the old man roared. 

Johnny tarried not, but sped away as Kent’s 
gun barked again and again. Johnny turned and 
fired over his shoulder as he ran. Molly was at 
the creek. A second or two ought to see her 
mounted. Dropping to his knees, Johnny emptied 
his pistol at the house. 

The firing had brought twenty men to the old 
man’s side. Johnny could hear him yelling: 

“He’s stealin’ my girl! Kill him! Kill him! 
The thief!” 

The bullets began kicking up the dust at 
Johnny’s feet. He had to run for it now. 

“Let’s ride!” he cried as he made the trees. 
“They’re goin’ for their horses. We won’t have 
five minutes’ start on ’em.” 

The drumming of their ponies’ hoofs upon the 
hard-packed road told Kent that they had got 
away. 

“Where are we heading for?” Molly cried 
as they raced along. 

“God knows!” Johnny called to her. “Idaho, 
maybe. To the North Fork first, and then that 



18 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


old stage trail to Boise. I figured we could slip 
away and cross the line on the run. Can’t do it 
now! There’s an old mine tunnel near the trail 
where it drops down the Tuscaroras. We’ll hole 
up there till night. Got food and water there.” 

Molly was crying, even though she rode at a 
breakneck pace. 

“Don’t—don’t let them take me back,” she 
begged. 

“They won’t!” Johnny cried grimly. “You’ll 
never marry Aaron Gallup! I’ll see to that.” 



CHAPTER XIX. 

“come and get him!” 

Long before Johnny’s party made the hills they 
could see that they were closely followed. The 
dust cloud in back of them came on apace. For 
an hour the fugitives held their advantage. Af¬ 
ter that the pursuers’ fresh horses began to gain. 

“You think we make the mine?” Johnny 
cried to Charlie Paul. 

Charlie weighed his answer before delivering 
it. “Mebbe, I guess we make um.” 

The Indian patted his rifle and pulled up his 
horse. Johnny nodded. In another second they 
had left Charlie far behind. Johnny strained his 
ears for sound of the Indian’s firing. It came, 
then, a quick rat-tat-tat-tat! Other guns began to 
roar. The canon which Johnny and Molly were 
ascending began to echo and reecho the shooting. 

They kept on, Molly half mad, Johnny watch- 
187 


18 8 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


ing their horses. Some time later Charlie Paul 
caught up with them, his horse dripping lather. 

“We make um mine now,” he said with a grin. 

They still had ten long, uphill miles ahead of 
them. Johnny began to believe they would make 
it. But what about to-night? The horses they 
rode would have to face the test again then. The 
boy knew they would never meet it. 

Better to drive them now to their last ounce of 
endurance and make sure of temporary safety. 

“Give ’em the spurs!” he cried. “Crowd 
’em!” 

With it all they were none too soon. Ten 
minutes after they had entered the mine, their 
horses ahead of them, the posse swung around 
the bend below. 

“They can’t be dumb enough to miss us,” 
Johnny grumbled. “Some of them m&y go by; 
but they’ll be back. We’ll fight it out here.” 

Charlie and he crawled out upon the tailings 
from the mine, and there, flat on their stomachs, 
they watched the men swarming below them. 

“Spotted us first crack,” the boy said with a 



COME AND GET HIM! 


189 


growl. “I knew it! Couldn’t fool old Hobe. 
He savvies this country.” 

“Me shoot now?” Charlie questioned. 

“No, not now. By and by we shoot. They 
won’t smoke us out of here in a hurry.” 

Down below the men were spreading out fan- 
wise. Johnny caught glimpses of them as they 
moved from cover to cover. They had sent their 
horses down the canon. 

Charlie Paul glanced at Johnny. He under¬ 
stood the movement below. The pursuers were 
circling them. Being an Indian, Charlie knew 
that it was very bad to wait for that circle to 
close. Death was usually the price of it. 

“No good wait,” he argued. “No use shoot 
bimeby.” 

“Let ’em shoot first,” Johnny counseled. “They 
used to be my friends. Reckon they ain’t now. 
When we shoot we’ll shoot to kill.” 

Half an hour passed without a gun being fired. 
Johnny felt reasonably safe. The mine was 
perched on the side of the mountain high above 
the surrounding country. In front of the tunnel 
the ground fell away rapidly to a small flat sev- 



190 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


enty-five yards below. Across this flat the attack 
would eventually come. 

Kent might surround the mountain and thus 
cut off his quarry’s escape, but Johnny did not 
worry about being ambushed from behind. Only 
a mountain sheep could climb up those walls of 
basalt. 

Kent must have come to the same conclusion, 
for his forces began to close in on the flat. Stuffy 
Tyler made it first. Johnny’s gun barked as the 
man started to dash across the flat. Tyler crawled 
back to shelter behind a bowlder. 

“Next man who tries that gets killed,” Johnny 
yelled. 

The word brought Molly to the boy’s side. 
He pulled her down. “Don’t stand thata-way,” 
he warned her. 

“Is there going to be killing here, Johnny?” 
Molly asked chokingly. 

“Reckon there’s certain to be.” 

“Father’s down there. I—I wouldn’t want 
him killed—” 

“He’ll have to look out for himself,” Johnny 
said without a second’s hesitancy. “It’s me or 



‘‘COME AND GET HIM!” 


191 

him. This thing goes through to a finish this 
time. You go back in the tunnel a ways. There’ll 
be shootin’ directly.” 

Dismissed, beside herself with worry and hope¬ 
lessness, Molly crawled back to safety. In her 
heart there was no malice toward Johnny. He 
was in danger at her request. It made him the 
master. He was fighting for her! 

Her deductions were as primitive as a cave- 
woman’s. Likewise, they were uncommonly 
sound. 

Kent had his forces in position now, and from 
behind bowlders a half dozen men dashed for 
the flat. Charlie Paul did not wait for Johnny’s 
permission to fire. Johnny’s gun began flashing, 
too. Two men with arms limp at their sides scur¬ 
ried back. Three others, uninjured, followed 
them. One man—Stub Rawlings—lay face up¬ 
ward in the open, pawing the ground with his 
legs, one of which had a hole shot through it. 

“Better take care of him, Hobe,” Johnny cried. 
“Git him out of the way. Just you alone does 
the job.” 



192 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Stalwart, unafraid, big Hobe walked into 
view. 

“Good God, Johnny!” he shouted. “Are 
you crazy? I’d sure hate to shoot you down; but 
I’m goin’ to if you don’t give in. What’re you 
goin’ to do with that girl?” 

“Marry her, if she’ll have me.” 

The foreman swore a terrible oath. “ You 
can’t steal a girl like that.” 

“Hell I can’t!” Johnny roared. “She’s here, 
ain’t she?” 

“Will you give up if we let you go?” Ferris 
demanded. 

“Ain’t no givin’ up this time, Hobe. Don’t 
you be so sad about me.” 

“You damn fool! You pore damn fool!” he 
repeated over and over again as he went down¬ 
hill, Stub in his arms. 

There came another lull. And then reenforce¬ 
ments arrived for Kent—Gallup, and no less a 
person than Jasper Roddy, the sheriff of Shoshone 
County; and a man Johnny did not know, the Rev. 
Murray Whitaker. 

There was a prodigious amount of consulta- 



“COME AND GET HIM!” 


i93 


tion soon after Gallup arrived. The boy could 
see them surrounding Aaron’s rig. The upshot of 
it was the ascent of the sheriff to the little flat. 

“You hear me, there?” Roddy demanded. 

“I hear you all right,” Johnny replied. “But 
I don’t like your voice.” 

“You’re under arrest,” the sheriff bawled. 
“Shootin’ with intent to kill, and five or six 
other things. I want that horse-stealin’ Injun 
what’s with you, too.” 

“I’d admire to see you git him,” Johnny 
laughed. “ I always had a hankerin’ to see just 
how yellow you was.” 

“Well, you hear me. I’ve sworn in each one 
of these men as my deputies. We’re goin’ to get 
you! You’re defyin’ the law now.” 

“Don’t you scare me thata-way,” Johnny an¬ 
swered sarcastically. “You’d better stay in the 
rear of your deputies, Roddy, or this mountain 
will be your monument, and it ’d be a shame to 
waste one as big as this on you.” 

Roddy withdrew and appeared in no hurry to 
close in on his prisoners. This Dice boy was. 
thoroughly disconcerting. 



194 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Kent and Gallup tried to insist on storming 
the mine at once, but wily Jasper Roddy could 
see no sense in wasting life when it would be 
easier—and safer—to starve the fugitives into 
submission. 

The morning passed without another shot be¬ 
ing fired. The sun, uncomfortably warm for Oc¬ 
tober, began searching the lower canon and finally 
drove the posse into the shadow of a ledge which 
cut them off from Johnny’s vision. 

Charlie Paul and the boy dozed in turn as the 
afternoon wore on. Molly, stoical now, boiled 
coffee and fried bacon for them. 

They knew they were closely watched. The 
westering sun, glinting on polished rifle barrels, 
betrayed the stalkers. 

Evening came on, and with it the acrid smell 
of burning sagebrush as the posse prepared its 
supper. The first thrill of the man hunt had 
worn off, and Kent’s men were bad-tempered. 

Madeiras was there, stretched out upon the 
ground, half asleep. Gallup had been studying 
him for some time when the Basque, feeling the 



COME AND GET HIM! 


i95 


man’s eyes on him, sat up and stared insolently at 
the coroner. 

“Guess you ain’t sorry you’re down here,” 
Aaron growled. 

‘‘You bat my life on that,” Tony answered 
with a grin. “We catch those fellow pretty 
soon.” 

“Catch ’em? Who wants to catch ’em? If 
Roddy had any guts he’d march up there and 
shoot ’em down. Johnny Dice ain’t worth a cent 
to me alive.” 

“He mak’ lot of trouble, heem.” 

“You said it, Madeiras! He ain’t licked till 
he’s in the ground.” 

“Johnny ain’t worth a cent to you alive; how 
much he worth daid, senorV } 

Aaron’s head came up at that and he studied 
the Basque’s face without answering. Then: 

“What you drivin’ at?” 

“Mebbe man get up those rocks in back of 
heem, eh?” 

“You mean you?” 

“Mebbe me,” Tony muttered. 



196 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“You show him to me, dead, and there’ll be 
plenty dinero for you, Madeiras.” 

“Perhaps so, I go to jail, too.” 

“Not a chance. Roddy’s sworn you in. If 
that idiot resists arrest, blow his head off and the 
law ’ll back you up.” 

Tony did not appear to view the prospect with 
any degree of faith. 

“Law no good for Basque,” he stated. “Plenty 
Basque in jail.” 

“Not if I’m for you,” argued Gallup. 

“How I know you be for me?” 

“I’m for you if you mean business. Why, 
here”—and Aaron drew from his pocket a buck¬ 
skin bag, and undoing the draw-string, held the 
purse out to the Basque—“run your fingers 
through that! All gold, all twenties. Five hun¬ 
dred. It’s yours if you go through with this.” 

Tony sent his fingers deep into the bag. A 
crafty light came into Gallup’s eyes as the man 
felt the precious metal. Tony’s face was working 
strangely. The coroner thought he read greed— 
success for himself in it. 

But the Basque’s fingers were not caressing 



‘‘COME AND GET HIM!” 


197 


the gold pieces. They were searching for some¬ 
thing more precious than money. 

For weeks he had been yearning to put his 
fingers in that very purse. Why? A child’s 
whim. At least the reasoning behind the desire 
was no more intelligent or logical than a child’s. 

The swarthy-faced one’s teeth gleamed as he 
touched that mysterious thing for which he 
searched. A thrill passed through his arm. He 
was holding the gold snake Crosbie Traynor had 
worn on his hat band! 

Reluctantly, Tony withdrew his hand. 

“I do thees thing for you,” he muttered. “The 
boy ees young, he ees in luff—the great passion ees 
on heem. Eet ees bad to keel a man, then. You 
—you’re ole; luff ees not for you. But I do thees 
thing. I get up there. You tell Kent to keep 
hees men from shoot me?” 

“I’ll ’tend to that,” Gallup said, excitedly, as 
he put away the purse. 

“All right, I go; but thees purse, I tak’ heem 
now! ” 

It was on Aaron’s tongue to demur, to refuse 
point blank; but why be cautious? He had gold 



I9S 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


pieces enough to fill many bags. What were five 
hundred dollars weighed against Molly Kent? 
With Johnny Dice out of the way the future was 
unclouded. 

“Don’t you double-cross me,” Gallup warned 
as he passed the purse to the Basque. 

Tony did not even reply. He was gone before 
Aaron had caught his breath. When he had con¬ 
trol of himself he called to Kent and the sheriff. 

“Madeiras has gone to bring them in,” he told 
them. “He’s goin’ up in back of the mine. You 
pass the word that he’s not to be picked off from 
below.” 

“The skunk!” Hobe growled when Kent told 
him what was happening. “I wouldn’t blame the 
boys if they did drill him. You know how they 
feel toward him. Better not say anythin’ to 
them.” 

It took the Basque more than an hour to get 
to the top. He made his plans as he moved, and 
they were admirable. What Charlie Paul would 
do was his one worry. 

Molly was the first to become aware of Ma¬ 
deiras’ presence. He was twenty-five yards above 



COME AND GET HIM! 


l 99 


the mine at the time, wriggling along on his 
stomach. The girl could not move for a second, 
and as she stood dumfounded she saw Tony roll 
a small bit of rock in Johnny’s direction. It caught 
the boy’s attention about the same instant that he 
saw the girl’s signals. Charlie Paul had swung 
his rifle around so that it covered the Basque. 
Johnny knocked it down. 

“Don’t shoot,” he warned. “The Basque’s 
all right.” 

“All right?” Molly questioned. “Didn’t he 
turn his back on you? ” 

“You don’t understand. He went to the ranch 
on my say-so.” 

With his hand the boy beckoned to Madeiras 
to come down. “Keep low when you cross the 
tailin’s,” Johnny told him. “ They’ll git you from 
below if you ain’t careful.” 

The boy thought, of course, that Tony had 
stolen away from Kent’s camp to make his stand 
with the three of them. He knew he would have 
done the same thing had the tables been turned. 

Imagine his surprise when he saw the Basque 



200 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


kick the Indian’s rifle over the edge of the dump 
and heard himself ordered to throw up his hands. 

The order was heard down below. Men were 
watching. The Basque made no effort to keep 
out of sight. 

Molly moaned as she saw how Johnny had 
been fooled by the treacherous Madeiras. Charlie 
Paul was crawling after his gun. Johnny for 
once in his life was speechless. He tried to lift 
his arms, but his muscles would not obey. 

The Basque’s gun was not more than three feet 
from Johnny’s head. The two men were permit¬ 
ted a second in which to stare into each other’s 
eyes. 

The Basque said something. What was it? 
Madeiras was moving his lips. He was whis¬ 
pering to him, but so low that Molly, even as 
close as she was, did not hear. Johnny caught 
the words then. It was a command! 

The next instant the Basque’s gun roared. 
Johnny’s arms went up convulsively. His body 
whirled, seemed to lose its balance, and for a sec¬ 
ond swayed crazily over the edge of the dump. 
Molly screamed and ran to catch him, but the 



COME AND GET HIM! 


201 


boy was gone. She could see him careening down 
the tailings, a trail of blood in his wake. 

The weight of Johnny’s body set the loose rock 
in motion. His fall had sent a small avalanche 
ahead of him, and now he rode upon a moving 
sea of quartz and feldspar. 

The direction in which the rock was falling 
was away from the men below. Molly saw the 
almost impenetrable canon toward which the body 
was dashing. She closed her eyes and turned 
away. But she could not shut from her ears the 
roaring of that grinding, splintering mass of rock. 

Clouds of dust arose and hung over the lower 
canon long after the noise had ceased. 

Madeiras climbed out to the edge of the dump. 
It was twilight, but he could see the men below. 
They were running about, shouting, and waving 
their arms. Gallup and Kent and the sheriff were 
bunched together. The Basque shook his fist at 
them. 

“There he ees, Gallup,” he shouted. “You 
can come and get heem now!” 



CHAPTER XX. 

WITHOUT PAY. 

“Git him?” the crowd yelled. “We’ll git you y 
you bosco—you white-livered whelp —you low- 
down, ornery—” 

And they meant it, too! 

“Git your rope, Stuffy,” some one cried. 
“We’ll give that hombre a ride.” 

Gallup and Kent glanced at Hobe. The big 
foreman’s face was black with hatred. “Come 
on,” they heard him grumble; “we’re goin’ up 
there.” 

“He only did what he was told to do,” the 
sheriff hurried to explain. “I swore him in. He’s 
within the law.” 

“Law?” Hobe’s jaw looked dangerous. 
“Ain’t no law that ’ll let a man murder his pal. 
To hell with your law! We’re goin’ to git him!” 

Roddy’s face paled at the crowd’s answer to 
202 


WITHOUT PAY 


203 


this statement. Kent, however, was less fright¬ 
ened. 

“I’m tellin’ you, boys,” the old man cried. 
“Ain’t no man workin’ for me that touches that 
Basque. I wanted my girl. He got her for me.” 

“Well, I’m tellin’ you, Kent,” Hobe ground out, 
“it’s either me or the Basque. We don’t ride 
the same range after this.” 

There wasn’t even the smallest bit of bluff 
about this. Kent realized it, too. He could ill 
afford to lose Hobe. “The Basque ’ll go, then,” 
he said grudgingly, “but I’ll not see him hung.” 

“And what do you think he’d do to the girl if 
the crowd of you started up there?” Roddy in¬ 
quired. “If he’s what you think he is, he’d fix 
her.” 

“Let all of you stay back,” Kent cried, elbow¬ 
ing his way to Gallup’s side. “The two of us 
will go up. I want my girl, and I’ll git her un¬ 
harmed. What Roddy says is so. You’re only 
makin’ a damned nuisance out of yourself with 
this talk of hangin’. Come on, Gallup!” 

For a moment Kent was master. He was 
again the tyrant of bygone days. 



204 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Madeiras was keenly alive to his danger. He 
had sent Charlie Paul on his way; Molly was heap¬ 
ing coals of fire upon the Basque’s head, but the 
thing which held Tony’s attention was that angry 
murmur from below. He recognized the sounds. 
He had seen men hanged! 

With a sigh of relief he saw Gallup and Kent 
break from the crowd and start toward him. 
When they reached the upper side of the little 
flat the Basque called to them: 

“You drop those gun before you come any 
closer!” 

“I want my daughter!” Kent answered. 

“Thass always right wit’ me, sehor; but those 
gun—they stay behin’.” 

“Humor the fool,” Gallup cried, throwing his 
rifle into the sage. “We want the girl, and I want 
to see Dice’s body.” 

Unarmed, therefore, they climbed to the en¬ 
trance of the mine. Madeiras met them with a 
surly laugh. 

“Where is she?” Kent demanded. 

Tony pointed to a pile of blankets upon which 



WITHOUT PAY 


20 $ 


Molly lay sobbing. Kent knelt beside her, his 
bony fingers shaking as he caressed her hair. 

“Come, Molly,” he begged, “we’ll git you 
home.” 

Molly turned from him angrily. 

“Don’t touch me,” she cried. “Your hands 
are as red as that beast’s there. I didn’t believe 
you could stoop to this.” 

“Now, now,” Kent pleaded, “you’re all upset. 
I’ll-” 

“You’ll do nothing for me!” Molly raised 
her hand and pointed at Gallup. “You two 
men may take me away from here; you may make 
me go to the ranch, and even marry me off; but 
you’ll do it by force! Father—I think I despise 
you. I see now why you got Madeiras to come 
back. It was nicely worked out. Well, I know 
where I stand. I’m no longer the fool.” 

The girl was hysterical. The old man thought 
she would fall, so helplessly did she sway from 
side to side. 

“My own father-^my own flesh and blood,” 
she sobbed. “That you could do this to me.” And 




20 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


with a lunge she threw herself toward the edge of 
the dump over which Johnny had pitched. 

Kent caught her and drew her back, a dead 
weight in his arms. 

“She’s fainted,” he gasped. 

“Won’t hurt her,” Gallup assured him. “Here’s 
horses; git her down to my rig and take her home. 
Put her to bed and see that she don’t try nothin’ 
foolish. I’m goin’ down there.” And he pointed 
to the spot where he expected to find Johnny’s 
body. “You come along, Madeiras. We can git 
down there if we take our time.” 

“Si, I go; but I go alone. Sehor, you are the 
coroner, not the sheriff. Why should I go weeth 
you?” 

“You know why,” Aaron growled. 

“I know no such theeng,” Tony argued. “You 
geeve me five hundret dollar. I keel him like I 
promise. You ought be satisfied.” 

Kent’s eyes opened. 

“You paid him to kill the boy?” the old man 
asked Aaron. 

“Why not?” demanded Gallup. “We’re done 
with him. I want to see just how damnMead he 



WITHOUT PAY 


207 


is, though. Come on, Madeiras; you can’t afford 
to break with me.” 

Tony laughed softly to himself. When Kent 
started downhill with Molly the Basque motioned 
to Gallup, and they set off, too. Tony’s heart was 
heavy. He had overplayed his hand. 

The long Nevada twilight was almost over by 
the time the two men reached the bottom of the 
little side canon into which Johnny’s body had 
shot. 

“Here’s the place,” Gallup called. “Tons of 
rock came down'. I don’t see him, do you? Look 
around.” 

They searched for fifteen minutes—time 
enough, considering the place—without finding the 
body. Madeiras was wildly excited over this. 
“Mebbe those rock cover heem up, eh?” he sug¬ 
gested, white-lipped. 

“Naw! Wasn’t he ridin’ on top of them?” 

“St! But plenty rock come after him. No 
blood, no not’ing, here. When the moon come up 
I deeg in these rock.” 

“What’s the use? If he’s buried, he’s dead 
enough. You can stay here if you want to; I’m 



208 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


goin’ back. And I’ll trouble you to return that 
five hundred. I ain’t payin’ for a dead man unless 
I see the body.” 

“Thass so, sehorf’ the Basque inquired un¬ 
pleasantly. He paused, then: “Thees place 
plenty beeg enough for two daid man.” 

He tossed his rifle in back of him, and with 
hands resting upon his hips, he faced Gallup. 

Aaron felt a shiver pass through his body. The 
size of those hands froze his blood. He fancied 
he could feel them at his throat—tearing, stran¬ 
gling, forcing the breath from his old carcass. 

Gallup’s cunning did not fail him. He knew 
that the present was the time for quick thinking 
and smooth talking. 

“Why are you so down on me?” he asked, 
apparently going off at a tangent. 

“You ask that, sehor?” 

Madeiras’ teeth showed white and even in the 
half light. 

“That mortgage, eh? We can adjust that. 
Things can be arranged. Tobias oversteps him¬ 
self now and then. But give me a little time; I’ll 
fix that up. And now about the five hundred— 



WITHOUT PAY 


209 


you keep it. You’ll be goin’ away, and you’ll be 
needin’ money.” Aaron rubbed his hands. “Yes,” 
he repeated, “you keep that money, Tony.” 

“No, senory Tony said lightly. “You have 
made leetla mistak’. You tak’ those money back. 
But you owe me somet’ing, of course. I keep 
thees” 

Madeiras had been running his fingers through 
the contents of Gallup’s purse and now held out 
for Aaron’s inspection the little gold snake Cros- 
bie Traynor had worn on his hat band. 

Gallup shrank back, his jaws working nervously. 
The next second he was reaching for the little 
charm. 

“No, senor,” Tony warned. “I keep eet.” 

“I didn’t know it was in there,” Gallup shrieked. 
“It’s mine! What in hell do you want with it?” 

“Thass fonny t’ing why I want heem, senor . 
But since first time I see those leetla snake I t’ink 
mebbe I lak’ to wear heem on my hat ban’ some 
time.” 

“What’re you talkin’ about? I’ve owned that 
luck piece these forty years. Who’d you ever see 
wearin’ it?” 



210 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Tony grinned again. 

“Mebbe those man what brought eet back to 
you, senor. He say the man what own eet be 
sure recognize heem by that snake.” 

“What’s that? What—what man?” Aaron 
babbled. 

“Those man what keel himself, senor . Johnny 
Dice mebbe dead; but me—Tony Madeiras—ees 
steel here! You go now.” 

Aaron was in no position to dispute this. 

Bent over, muttering strange words to himself, 
Gallup moved away, in his ears the mocking 
laughter of the Basque. 

Tony kept his word with Johnny. As soon as 
the moon came up he set the debris in motion 
again. Tons and tons of small rock cascaded 
down upon the mass already piled in the choked 
canon, but it failed to uncover the body of the boy. 

It occurred to Madeiras, then, that Johnny 
might have crawled away some distance and be 
lying helpless further down the canon. He called 
for the better part of ten minutes, but received 
no answer. 

Johnny Dice was not to be found. 



WITHOUT PAY 


2 11 


Hours later Gallup stumbled into Kent’s camp. 
Only Roddy and Tobias and one or two others 
remained. 

“You look as though you’d seen a ghost,” the 
sheriff remarked. “What in God’s name you been 
up to?” 

“Terrible trip,” Gallup moaned. “Too much 
for me.” 

“Ain’t you goin’ to hold an inquest?” 

“Inquest, hell!” Aaron snorted. “The man’s 
buried under a hundred ton of rock. The Basque 
was your deputy. That ends it as far as I’m 
concerned.” 



CHAPTER XXL 


TWO DEAD MEN. 

For a dead man Johnny Dice was most active 
at that very moment. He was some five miles 
from the spot where Tony searched for his body. 
He was not alone. Some one else moved through 
the greasewood and sage ahead of him. Stealth¬ 
ily, too, Johnny felt. The two of them had been 
circling each other for some time. Both were 
anxious to avoid the other, but for this very rea¬ 
son, seemingly, their trails kept on crossing and 
recrossing. 

It was uncanny. Johnny thought he was being 
tracked. By innumerable little deductions he 
knew that no animal made those sounds which al¬ 
ternately retreated and advanced behind and be¬ 
fore him. It was a man! Who? The boy 
strained his eyes to catch sight of moving shadow 
or strange object. 

He went unrewarded. It may have been that 
212 


TWO DEAD MEN 


213 


he was less cautious than usual. His mind was 
still blurred from the Basque’s shot. From the 
time Madeiras had appeared upon the tailings un¬ 
til the present moment, things had happened so 
quickly that Johnny could only grasp the essential 
facts. 

The boy knew that Tony had whispered: “Play 
dead!” The Basque’s every movement had been 
made to the gallery. The next instant his gun 
had flashed fire. Johnny’s fall had not been acted. 
Madeiras had given him only a scalp wound, but 
the impact had been sufficient to send the boy off 
his balance. The ride down the moving tailings 
had torn Johnny’s clothing to shreds, but had not 
so much as scratched his skin. The stunt under 
other circumstances would have been good sport. 

He had regained consciousness there in the 
choked canon. The Basque’s words had come 
back to him: “Play dead!” 

His wound, a trivial injury, had confirmed his 
faith in the fact that the shooting was a game. 
Madeiras was too handy with a gun to have 
missed at that distance ! Something had happened 
at the ranch—something which would be uncov- 



214 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


ered if certain parties thought him dead. It was 
plain enough to Johnny. * 

Feeling certain that soon some one would be 
searching for him, the boy had crawled over the 
loose rock and made his way down the canon to 
where it opened on a high plateau. 

There he had rested—and worried about 
Molly. What was to stop Gallup from marrying 
her now? Could he depend on Tony to prevent 
that? Surely the Basque would not have gone to 
this desperate measure unless he was prepared to 
protect the girl. The boy had to stand on some¬ 
thing, and he chose to do it on this hypothesis. 
A sensible decision. 

But Johnny proceeded to make a bad mistake. 
Believing as he did that Tony wanted the world 
to consider him dead he hoped to better accom¬ 
plish the hoax by hiding from the Basque; never 
for a moment realizing that Madeiras on not 
finding the body would jump to the conclusion 
that Johnny was buried under the avalanche of 
rock. 

The boy’s first need was a horse. Being afoot 
in this country rendered him almost helpless. Kent 



TWO DEAD MEN 


215 


and his men would surely be watching for him, 
so Johnny had headed for the Reservation as his 
best refuge. 

Half an hour back his trail had crossed that 
of the man out there in the blackness. It had 
stopped any further thought of Molly and Ma- 
deiras. 

And now a very curious thing happened. A 
thud and the sound of crackling brush to his right 
made Johnny turn in that direction. As he did 
so some one whispered in back of him: 

“Hands up!” 

The other man had tossed a rock into the sage 
and the noise it made as it landed had claimed 
the boy’s attention and left him an easy target. 

“You turn him around now,” the voice said. 

Johnny did as he was bid and found himself 
staring at Charlie Paul. The Indian’s eyes 
bulged. “You him, Johnny?” he cried. 

“Charlie Paul! You damn near scairt me to 
death.” 

“You no dead?” the Indian asked. 

“Not yet, Charlie. What happened?” 



21 6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


It took the Indian some time to satisfy the 
boy’s curiosity. 

“Gallup and Kent go ’way, eh?” Johnny ques¬ 
tioned. “You sure?” 

“Sure. Take horses, too. I watch; I see. All 
gone now.” 

Johnny pondered for some minutes over the 
Indian’s information. 

“Charlie Paul,” he said at last. “I tell you 
somethin’. You try understand him, Charlie. 
Savvy?” 

Charlie grunted his assent. 

“Well,” the boy began, “everybody think I’m 
dead—me. You no tell. The Basque, he good 
friend me. He not shoot for kill. Me and him 
play game, all same like viente y uno, you savvy? 
So! By and by I catch him man.” Johnny indi¬ 
cated a rope around his neck. “You no talk, eh?” 

“No talk, me.” 

“Good. I go back on mine. Plenty grub, 
plenty water there. You take him money. Mebbe 
you go Reservation; buy tw r o horse. No tell 
Thunder Bird you buy him for me. You do that, 
Charlie Paul?” 



TWO DEAD MEN 


217 


“I go,” said the Indian. “Mebbe so to-morrow 
night I be back.” 

Sundown the following day found Charlie back 
at the mine. Johnny had slept for hours, and 
soon after the Indian’s arrival he determined to 
ride to the Diamond-Bar and let Molly know that 
he was not dead. He could depend on her to 
keep his secret. To withhold the truth from her 
was needless cruelty. 

Johnny circled the house before he approached 
it. A dim light burned in Molly’s room. Crawl¬ 
ing to the side window he lay upon the ground 
listening for some sound which would tell him she 
was awake. Once or twice he fancied he heard a 
low sob or moan. Getting to his feet he fastened 
his hands on the sill above him and began draw¬ 
ing up his body so that he could see into the room. 

His head and shoulders were even with the 
bottom of the window when a nail tore into his 
forearm. The pain of it forced a moan from his 
lips. It had a startling effect on the occupants of 
the room. 

Molly was in bed; but not asleep. Old Kent 
sat beside her. Neither had been aware of the 



218 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


boy’s nearness until that mournful cry escaped his 
lips. They turned, mouths open, eyes wide. 

The old man screamed as he saw Johnny. Pain 
and the dead weight of his body upon his arms 
had put a hideous expression on the boy’s face. 
His clothes were ragged, his face white, his hair 
uncombed. The dim light threw shadows which 
only magnified his weirdness. 

“Take him away! Take him away!” Kent 
screeched. “Don’t you see him?” he wailed. 
“He’s there—in the window. Aw-w-w!” And 
he covered his face with his hands to shut out the 
gruesome sight. 

Without knowing that he did it, Johnny flung 
a beseeching hand toward Molly. A shriek an¬ 
swered him and he saw her topple over upon her 
bed. The men were running from the bunk-house. 
There was nothing left for the boy to do but go. 

From the cover of the willows by the creek 
he could see men moving about with lanterns. 
Cries came to him, and above others, the sound 
of Kent yelling: 

“A ghost, I tell yuh! He’s come back to haunt 
me! Don’t laugh at me! Don’t laugh!” And 



TWO DEAD MEN 


219 


Kent’s cry rose until it broke in a fit of choking. 

“Take him inside,” came an order in Hobe’s 
voice. “He’s babblin’ like a child.” 

The old man fought them off as they tried to lift 
him. 

“He’s here!” he cried. “I heard him! Don’t 
let him git me. Molly, Molly, I didn’t do it. 
Gallup paid Madeiras to kill him. I swear I 
didn’t do it. I swear-” 

The old man’s cries died away in a moan of 
anguish. The door banged and Johnny knew that 
they had taken him to his room. 

A cold sweat broke out on Johnny. It had 
never occurred to him that this construction would 
be put on his appearance. Was it possible that 
this was the very thing Tony had had in mind 
when he shot him? The sight of him had 
frightened Kent out of his wits. 

What would happen if he appeared before Gal¬ 
lup in the dead of night in similar fashion? Gal¬ 
lup had paid Madeiras to murder him. 

Johnny cursed Gallup as he led his horse away 
from the ranch. 

“Reckon I’ll pay you a visit, Aaron,” he said 




220 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


to himself. “And right soon, too. I may be 
dead, but I’ll put the fear of hell into your mis¬ 
erable old carcass. You’ll be thinkin’ of some¬ 
thin’ else besides who you are goin’ to marry.” 

Johnny’s one brief glance at Molly had shown 
him the girl tired, grief-stricken, hysterical. He 
wanted to tell her, now more than ever, that he 
lived; but to do so meant the loss of his best 
weapon against Kent and Gallup. Better for her 
to suffer now than to be forced into marrying 
Aaron Gallup. 

Thoughts of Crosbie Traynor came to Johnny 
as he rode along. What had old Thunder Bird 
found out? The chief would have something to 
say when next they met. 

“Strikes me we got quite a lot in common, 
Crosbie Traynor,” mused Johnny. “The world’s 
got both of us figured for dead. Only I’m alive 
to avenge myself.” 



CHAPTER XXII. 


THE FACE IN THE WINDOW. 

Johnny surprised Charlie Paul on the follow¬ 
ing day by telling him that they were going to 
Standing Rock. 

“Me still dead man,” the boy said in answer 
to the question in the Indian’s eyes. “We stop 
this side the Rock. Nobody there know I be in 
your camp. Mebbe so, come night time, we go 
into town, play ghost, mebbe scare some man, 
eh?” 

Charlie grinned and shook his head. “Ah, 
nah,” he said, “me no ghost.” 

“I be the ghost, Charlie,” Johnny told him. 
“Gallup paid Tony to git me. I’m goin’ to play 
dead now. You go down and git the horses. 
I be ready pretty quick.” 

This talk of ghosts was “bad medicine” in 
Charlie’s eyes, but he agreed, nevertheless, to do 
as the boy ordered. 


221 


222 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


The two traveled far from any road, and so 
slow was their progress that night found them 
still some miles from town. 

Low hills came close to the northern limits of 
Standing Rock. The Indian knew a spot among 
them where he decided to camp. It was a little 
after nine o’clock before they reached it. 

“Leave our stuff here, Charlie,” Johnny ad¬ 
vised. “We eat, then we go see Gallup.” 

The Indian answered with a shrug of his shoul¬ 
ders. He favored more direct action than this 
business of playing ghost. His way, under the 
circumstances, would have been to pot Aaron as 
he slept. 

Johnny thumbled his gun just as they were 
ready to leave. Charlie smiled at this. Maybe 
the night held something of interest, after all. 

“Ghost no have gun,” he laughed mockingly. 

“No,” Johnny chuckled. “All the same I take 
him. You watch sharp till we cross railroad.” 

He knew that once across the tracks they would 
be in little danger of being seen. Gallup’s house 
was one of the few on that side of the Espee main 
line. 



THE FACE IN THE WINDOW 223 


When they had left the railroad a hundred 
yards behind they dismounted and began walking 
through the sage toward Aaron’s place. The three 
or four cabins they had to pass to get there were in 
darkness. A light burned in an upper window of 
Gallup’s house. 

“Tobias and him countin’ up the day’s profits, 
no doubt,” Johnny thought. The Indian heard 
the boy muttering. “ ’Bout time I begun doin’ a 
little countin’ up myself,” Johnny went on. 
Aloud, then, to Charlie he said: 

“You git ahead now. No noise, no tracks, you 
savvy?” 

Again the Indian answered with a nod of his 
head. 

In ten minutes they were lurking in the shadows 
beneath the lighted window. 

Aaron’s house was a story and a half affair, 
and the lighted window at least ten feet from 
the ground. They could hear the murmur of 
voices, but the closed window kept them from 
understanding a word of what was being said. 

A stone’s throw away the lights of the Palace 
Hotel burned brightly; Johnny turned a wistful 



224 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


eye toward it. In a way it was his Times Square— 
his Broadway. He wondered who was facing 
Scanlon to-night. Something whispered to him 
that his evenings there were a thing of the past. 
Gambling with him had been an art, but it was a 
sorry accomplishment, one that would be of doubt¬ 
ful value to him in the days to come. 

Unknown to Johnny, this reasoning was based 
on the fact that subconsciously he saw himself 
treading the future at Molly Kent’s side. 

A through freight thundered by as the two men 
waited, undecided as to their next move. Charlie 
looked blankly at the boy. “How you get up 
there?’’ he whispered. 

“I’ll tell you,” Johnny answered, an idea break¬ 
ing in on him. “I stand on your shoulders, 
Charlie, you know, like this”—the boy stooped 
and then arose, clasping the legs of an imaginary 
man. “You understand?” 

Again that unemotional nod from the Indian. 
Getting down upon all fours, he waited for Johnny 
to climb into position. The boy straightened up, 
using the side of the house to help him retain 
his balance. 



THE FACE IN THE WINDOW 225 


“Move along,” he whispered. “Stop when 
I signal.” 

They had only ten feet to go. Charlie felt 
Johnny’s legs stiffen as the boy came abreast the 
window. The Indian stopped. 

“Steady,” Johnny warned as he pressed his face 
to the glass. He started as he beheld Gallup’s 
companion. It was Tony Madeiras! 

The Basque seemed to be having the best of 
the conversation. Tony had his hat on, pushed 
back from his forehead, his black hair curling 
out from beneath the brim. Something strange 
about the hat caught and held Johnny’s attention. 
It was the little gold snake snapped in the hat 
band. 

“Traynor’s luck piece or I’m a liar,” Johnny 
gasped to himself. “Where in God’s name did 
the Basque git it?” 

He could see that Tony was enjoying himself. 
He knew Madeiras’ manner when things were go¬ 
ing his way. A smile all insolence wreathed the 
man’s face. His eyes were contemplative, cruel. 
Gallup cowered before them. 

There was money upon the table between the 



226 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


two men. The Basque pushed the gold pieces to 
the floor with a sweep of his hand. 

“Money mean not’ing to Tony Madeiras,” 
Johnny heard him say. “Thass leetla theeng— 
money. You tell me ’bout those jail at Carson. 
Ha, ha! Those jail be nice place for you, too, 
senor” 

“Don’t be a fool, Madeiras,” old Aaron 
whined. “You can’t send me down there without 
goin’ yourself.” 

“I go eef I have to. I’m strong; jail ees no 
nice place for old man like you. Me, I do not try 
to keel Johnny. I just crease him, I t’ink. Those 
rock, they keel him; but judge, he say we keel 
him just the same, I guess. Now what you say— 
you steel try marry those girl?” 

Aaron did not answer. 

“As sure you try those trick,” Tony went on, 
“I go see the Senor Kelsey”—the district attorney. 

“You will, eh?” Gallup cried. “Like hell you 
will!” 

His hand came up from under the table, a 
pistol, black and ominous, held rigidly. “You’ll 



THE FACE IN THE WINDOW 227 


tell nothin’!” he screamed as he leveled his gun 
at the Basque’s head. 

A blood-curdling yell broke from Johnny’s lips 
as he saw the old man’s finger tighten on the trig¬ 
ger. Gallup jumped. His chair crashed over as 
he kicked it out of his way. The Basque’s eyes 
rolled until their whites showed. 

What was that in the window—a dead man’s 
face? 

“Hola! Virgen santa!” Madeiras shouted, 
and he made the sign of the cross. “Johnny! 
Johnny Dice!” 

Gallup’s palsied hand pointed his gun at the 
apparition. Johnny contorted his face and 
laughed diabolically. The old man’s finger pressed 
the trigger and shot the window pane to bits, but 
the boy was gone. He had beaten the gun by an 
instant. 

Charlie Paul had felt the boy’s legs stiffen. 
The next he knew Johnny was on the ground be¬ 
side him. A moment later they were lost in the 
night. 

When they found their ponies the boy permitted 
himself his first laugh. “That yell of mine,” he 



228 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


said, “wasn’t in the play. No, sir! Madeiras was 
up there. Gallup would have killed him in another 
second.” 

“Good old Tony,” thought Johnny. Molly 
was safe! Madeiras was a hero. He was mak¬ 
ing a Judas of himself for his pal’s sake. 

“Guess we don’t go back there pretty soon, 
eh?” Charlie chuckled. 

“Surest thing!” exclaimed Johnny. “I know 
now that he’ll scare. We have plenty fun along 
that man, Charlie.” 

Madeiras had discovered as much, too. Even 
seeing the ghost of Johnny Dice had not robbed 
him of all sense. When Gallup turned back from 
the shattered window he found himself looking 
into the Basque’s gun. 

“I tak’ those peestol now, sehor” he said. 

Aaron was too dumfounded to object. “Did 
yuh see it?” he demanded. “It was him!” 

“Madre de Dios! Of course I see heem,” the 
Basque cried angrily. His hands flashed out and 
caught Gallup. Lifting him off his feet he hurled 
him across the room. 

“I ought to keel you!” he growled. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE GUN SPEAKS. 

The following morning found Kent in Stand¬ 
ing Rock closeted with Gallup. Kent was a ner¬ 
vous wreck. Molly had refused to speak to him; 
his men were sullen, aloof; Tobias had been back 
about the notes, and to top it all the specter of 
Johnny Dice walked beside him wherever he went. 

“You been seem’ ghosts, too?” Aaron asked. 

“You know, then, eh?” old Jackson answered 
miserably. “I saw him as plain as I’m seein’ 
you, Gallup. The girl did, too. I’ll never for¬ 
get how it moaned. I used to laugh at men who 
believed in haunts.” Kent shook his head. “I’m 
past doin’ that now. When did you see it?” 

“Last night. It was here—but it ain’t no 
haunt. It’s Dice himself! I found footprints 
beneath the window this mornin’. Let him come 
ag’in. I won’t miss him a second time.” 

“You mean he’s alive—that he ain’t killed?” 

229 


230 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“You’ve got it! I knew you couldn’t figger 
him dead unless you’d seen his body put in the 
ground. He’s fooled us all, even the Basque. Ma- 
deiras was here last night threatenin’ me. Told 
me he’d put me in Carson Penitentiary if I tried 
to marry Molly.” 

“I was hopin’ you’d change your mind about 
that, Gallup. The girl’s half mad.” 

“Well, you weren’t able to do anythin’ for To¬ 
bias yesterday. I’ll wait ’till day after to-morrow. 
You pay the money or I take the girl. She ain’t 
got no use for you, nohow. A man’s got to have 
a little backbone if he wants to keep his head up 
with wimmen. As soon as she pulled Traynor’s 
name on you, you wilted. I don’t know how much 
Dice knows, but it’s too much. Madeiras is 
makin’ big talk, too. The damn bosco stole that 
old Moqui charm of mine. He knew who had it, 
too.” 

“What?” Kent’s mouth twitched. He shook 
his fist in Gallup’s face. “How’d he know that?” 
he cried. 

“That scares you, does it? Let him prove what 
he-” Gallup stopped short, his eyes on the 




THE GUN SPEAKS 


231 


door to the adjoining room. He had seen it 
move ! He knew that he had closed it when Kent 
came in. Pushing his visitor out of the way, 
Aaron made a leap for the door and threw it open. 
Tobias was caught flat-footed. 

Gallup grabbed the man by his coat and 
dragged him into the room. “Eavesdroppin’, 
eh?” Aaron screamed. “I’ll teach you to spy 
on me. You’re through—fired! You ain’t got a 
cent but what you got from me. You pussyfootin’ 
swine, what were you hopin’ to hear! Take that!” 

Tobias Gale fairly bristled as he got up from 
the floor. So wrathful was he that his little 
body trembled from head to foot. For years he 
had suppressed his emotions, bridled his desires, 
made a machine of himself. Gallup marveled as 
he gazed at him now. 

“Let us be honest for once, Aaron Gallup,” 
Tobias said with fine impudence. “When the pot 
calls the kettle black it’s time to tell the truth. 
What I’ve got is mine. I earned it doing your 
dirty bidding. 

“You’ll not kick me out. I’ve protected myself. 
Indeed I have. You’ll find that out when you try 



232 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


to call in some of your loans. Humph! A swine 
am I, eh? You are the swine, Aaron Gallup. 

“I know why you wanted Johnny Dice put out 
of the way, and I know that Crosbie Traynor 
didn’t kill himself. You know it, too! You’ll 
crawl to me before I’ve finished. You just try 
to kick me out, to cheat me—and I’ll tell what’s 
what. 

‘‘You’ve kicked and beat me for years. You 
thought I didn’t mind. Well, I’ve made it my 
business to find out about you. You start your 
little tricks, and Molly Kent will know, and 
Johnny Dice will know. I’ll talk you so deep into 
jail that the Carson Penitentiary will crumble to 
ruins before they let you out.” 

Tobias hurled a chair from his path. 

“Get out of my way!” he warned Gallup. “I’m 
leaving this house now forever. When you’ve got 
something to say to me you can come to the hotel 
and find me.” 

And the slave marched out, the king at last! 

Kent and Gallup sat and stared at each other 
for countless minutes. Crushed, dumfounded, 
Kent reached for his hat finally and without a 



THE GUN SPEAKS 


233 


word stumbled down the stairs to get into his 
rig and start for home. 

Gallup seemed unaware of his going. Meal 
time came, but Aaron still sat in his upstairs room, 
fixedly gazing into space. Some one knocked at 
his door, but he heard it not. His brain refused 
to hold any thought other than that Johnny Dice 
lived and would have the truth from Tobias. 

Aaron’s gun lay upon the table before him. 
As he continued to sit in his trancelike state the 
pistol began to claim his attention. In fact, Gal¬ 
lup fancied it talking to him. 

“You’ve lived by the gun,” the weapon seemed 
to say. “I’ve seen you through every big crisis of 
your life. I do my work well when properly 
handled. I stop babbling tongues; smother se¬ 
crets; give the old the strength of the young. I 
am your friend, Aaron Gallup. Men whom you 
have trusted have failed you or else they have 
been clumsy, stupid—in me alone can you place 
dependence.” 

Yes, it was plain, Johnny Dice had to die. To¬ 
bias and Madeiras were dangerous—they could be 
attended to later, but Johnny Dice’s end was im- 



234 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


perative. He had to go. But how? It had to 
be soon—before the boy talked with the other 
two. That meant to-night! Johnny Dice would 
have to die to-night! 

Gallup began to shake off his lethargy. Be¬ 
tween now and sundown he had to be ready. 

He went downstairs and puttered over his 
stove preparing food. Color flowed back into his 
face as his brain began to function again. He 
mumbled to himself as he settled on what he would 
do. Gallup’s vanity took much pleasure from the 
proposed plan. It was simple, but ripe with the 
native ingenuity which had brought Aaron across 
many a rough spot. 

In brief, it was this: no one but Tobias Gale 
and Jackson Kent knew that he had seen through 
Johnny’s game. The boy had first appeared to 
Kent and then to him. That argued that Johnny 
would be hiding out—anxious to keep alive the 
story of his death. 

Last night the boy’s ghostly visit had been 
more than a success. Now, if he, Gallup, spread 
the story of what he had seen—the grinning face, 
the fiendish cry—wouldn’t word of his talking 



THE GUN SPEAKS 


235 


reach Johnny? The man must have some confed¬ 
erate who would carry the tale. 

But supposing that failed, if men heard the 
coroner talking of having seen a ghost, and this 
very night that ghost should return and be killed, 
and proved no ghost at all—well, wouldn’t that 
be alibi enough? Yet the law couldn’t touch Gal¬ 
lup for that. 

So, then, it got down to whether Johnny would 
return. Aaron was satisfied to believe that he 
would, so between then and sunset he spread his 
story up and down the main street of Standing 
Rock. 

Charlie Paul, loafing in front of the Palace 
Hotel, heard it and carried it to Johnny. 

“He look sick, Gallup,” the Indian went on. 
“He pretty damn well scared, him.” 

“Guess Aaron knows haunts is hostile to him,” 
Johnny said more to himself than to Charlie. 

“Him—Gallup—have big fight, too,” the faith¬ 
ful Indian added. 

“What fight? No savvy that, Charlie.” 

“Man, Gale—all bus’ up.” 

“Split—all off, you mean?” 



236 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Him split,” Charlie grinned. “Him, Gale, 
live um hotel.” 

“Well, I’m damned!” Johnny dropped the 
frying pan to better voice his surprise. “Them 
two old junipers failin’ out—now what do you 
know ’bout that? You hear any more, Charlie?” 

“Nah. Gale get horse, he drive away.” 

“There’s a kittle of fish for you!” Johnny 
shook his head uncomprehendingly. “I should 
admire to know what’s up. Mebbe so we find out 
to-night.” 

Unknown to Johnny, Tobias Gale had returned 
to Standing Rock shortly after sundown. He had 
not been alone when he reached the outskirts of 
the town. There he had stopped, and the man 
who occupied the rig with him had stepped to 
the ground. Gale had driven on, and the other 
man, after ten minutes, had started to walk the 
remaining distance into the Rock. 

Tobias made no effort to see him again, but 
he was apparently well satisfied with his day’s 
work. The man with whom he had driven across 
country that afternoon could be expected to fur¬ 
nish rare entertainment for one Gallup. 



THE GUN SPEAKS 


237 


Gale made some discreet, but futile, inquiries 
regarding the whereabouts of Tony Madeiras and 
retired to his room. This was Gallup’s night, 
and Tobias was in no way inclined to share the 
spotlight with him. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 


JOHNNY DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE. 

When Aaron Gallup retired to his home at 
seven o’clock that evening he knew that if Johnny 
Dice hovered in or near Standing Rock he had 
heard by now the story of his—Gallup’s—super¬ 
natural visitor. Figuratively speaking, Aaron 
patted himself on the back for having set his trap 
for the smooth Johnny. The old man’s confi¬ 
dence in his scheme was such that he even whistled 
snatches of an old tune popular in the days of the 
Sante Fe Trail. 

He finished his supper without lighting a lamp. 
Having eaten, he climbed the stairs and made 
ready for the expected visitor. He saw to it 
that his gun was in order; he lighted a lamp; he 
raised the curtains—it was as if he were a stage 
manager preparing for the evening’s show. 

When his old brain refused to suggest any 

additional bit of stagecraft, Aaron took his seat. 

238 


DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE 239 


He had arranged the lamp so that he sat in 
shadow. Four or five times he drew a bead upon 
an imaginary face in the window—it made him 
smile. He was ready—he wouldn’t miss to-night. 

It was too early for ghosts, so he half dozed 
in his chair. A clock struck eight, but Aaron 
heard it not, nor did he catch the soft pad-pad of 
naked feet ascending the stairs. Gallup was in a 
strange world confronting a horde of Johnny 
Dices. He shot them down, one after another, un¬ 
til his trigger finger grew tired. 

Minutes slipped by as the old man sat lost in 
reverie, a smile of satisfaction upon his face. The 
door had opened noiselessly, a bony hand forcing 
it inward. The visitor squinted his eyes at Gal¬ 
lup and took a step into the room, closing the door 
behind him as he did so. He stood still, waiting 
for the other to catch sight of him. 

Aaron became aware of the man’s presence by 
degrees. When he saw him and recognition fol¬ 
lowed, he uttered no word of surprise or fear, 
but just stared and stared at him. And eyes as 
cold as his own stared back at him. 

This specter out of the past was no ghost, and 



240 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


yet it well might have been, for if, in appearance, 
there was ever a living dead man it was this 
gaunt visitor. 

Gallup’s thoughts were no longer on the win¬ 
dow. Johnny Dice no longer obsessed him. He 
knew there could be no connection between the 
boy and this shriveled shadow of a man confront¬ 
ing him. 

And yet there was, and not so remote at that. 
But Johnny knew nothing of the man’s coming. 
The boy was playing a lone hand this night. He 
had already circled Gallup’s house several times. 
That a light should be burning in that same room 
again to-night looked suspicious to Johnny. It 
said all too plainly that he was expected. 

Well, it is a poor general who has only one 
plan of attack. Johnny flattered himself that he 
was equal to this occasion. 

The eastern freight had not pulled in yet. Two 
carloads of ore from the Black Prince mine stood 
upon the side track. They would have to be 
picked up and cut into the train. Very likely the 
freight would bring a car of merchandise from San 
Francisco for the Rock. That would take more 



DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE 241 


time. Cars would be switched back and forth 
past the house. One should be able to see into 
that lighted upper story room from the top of one 
of those cars. 

Gallup had not replaced the shattered glass as 
yet. With fair skill a man should be able to flip 
a piece of cardboard into the room. Johnny had 
such a thing to toss at Gallup’s feet—the picture 
of Molly which he had found in Traynor’s wallet. 

The boy had the best of reasons for doing this. 
Surely if Gallup did not recognize the picture it 
would worry him sore just because he could not 
place the child’s face. A picture, delivered as 
this one would be, carried a message, a warning. 
And perhaps the man would fail to reason that it 
had been tossed into the room from the top of a 
passing freight car. If so, he would be at some 
pains to figure how it came there upon his floor. 

If the incident produced no other effect than 
this, Johnny told himself he would be satisfied. It 
would be another straw added to Aaron’s load, 
and to break and unnerve the man was Johnny’s 
game. 

But he stood to win more than this. He had 



242 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


made Kent admit that he had known Crosbie 
Traynor. If Gallup recognized that picture it 
was proof enough that he, too, had known the 
man. Then, Johnny felt that he would have dis¬ 
covered the reason for Kent’s subservience to 
Gallup. 

As he walked the tracks to the head of the 
switch just this side of the shipping pens he told 
himself that he could not lose. No matter how 
the play went, he won. 

The freight pulled in half an hour late, but; 
Johnny’s calculation in regard to the amount of 
work the train crew would have to do proved 
correct. Swinging up to the top of one of the 
big box cars he stretched himself flat and waited 
for the switching to begin. In a few minutes he 
was rolling past Gallup’s house. 

Rising to his knees, the picture in his hand, he 
peered into the lighted room. What he saw there 
drove his plans far from his mind. In fact, so 
great was Johnny’s surprise that he had trouble 
in retaining his balance upon the moving car. 

Gallup’s visitor was old Thunder Bird! Yes— 
and the old chief was bound and gagged! Gallup 



DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE 243 


sat before him. Another second and the scene 
was whisked from Johnny’s vision. 

Johnny’s breath came in gasps as he rode down 
the tracks. Some things were plain now. It was 
Thunder Bird himself whom Traynor had gone 
to see! Could there be any doubt of it ? Gallup 
saw an enemy in the Indian. Why? What better 
reason would he want than that Thunder Bird 
had known Traynor, and that the old chief knew 
that he—Gallup—had known the man, too ? 

People had called Traynor a stranger, but here 
were three men—Thunder Bird, Kent, and Gal¬ 
lup—whose actions proved that they had known 
him. There might be others—Tobias Gale, for 
instance—he was a mysterious sort of person. In¬ 
deed, no stranger’s bullet had ended Traynor’s 
life. 

Johnny fretted and fumed as the minutes passed 
while the car stood still. It seemed that hours 
dragged by before the engine came back to shunt 
the car down the tracks toward town. Finally 
it began to move. The boy felt it take the switch 
just before it crossed the main street of the town. 
By this he knew that the car was going on to the 



244 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


siding which managed to squeeze past the side 
of the hotel. 

Although not so close to Gallup’s house now, 
the boy could see into the room by standing erect. 
The car came to a stop almost opposite it. Johnny 
saw Thunder Bird tied in his chair, but Gallup 
was gone. ‘‘Downstairs, no doubt,” mused 
Johnny, “lookin’ for me.” 

For the ten minutes that the car stood on the 
siding Johnny stared into the lighted room. He 
did not know just what to do. Rescuing men from 
Gallup’s lair was hardly a thing to be pursued as 
a nightly vocation—that is, if one were at all fond 
of living. But on the other hand, Thunder Bird 
might hold the key to the entire situation. Johnny 
felt that the old chief could explain many things 
if he could be induced to talk. 

Obviously the thing to do was to find Madeiras 
and then force a way into Gallup’s house. Tony 
must be in town. Finding the Basque could not 
be more than an hour’s work. 

“Damn it,” Johnny muttered. “Wish I’d 
tipped him off to the truth. Hain’t helped a bit 
to let him think he killed me. I sure need him 



DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE 245 


now. Charlie wouldn’t be no good at all. He’d 
want to stick a knife into Gallup.” 

The engine kicked a string of cars against the 
one upon which Johnny stood. They hit so sharply 
that the boy’s legs almost went out from under 
him. Crawling to the hand irons he swung his 
foot out to find the top one. He was facing the 
hotel for the first time. Before him was the room 
in which Traynor had been killed. Johnny drew 
back his foot, his brain reeling as he began putting 
two and two together. 

Once he stretched out his arm and touched the 
window sill. 

“My God,” he moaned, “this is it! It couldn’t 
be anythin’ else. It was this time of the night— 
the noise of the engine to kill the sound of the 
shot, a stick to lift the man’s gun, a toss of the 
arm to throw it back into the room after the killin’ 
—it’s right as day! Why, of course—Traynor’s 
hat was damp. It was rainin’ that night. When 
whoever pulled it out to rip the band off, the rain 
got at it. And the wool—I picked up a piece of 
fleece from the floor. Teixarra was shippin’ wool 



246 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


that day. His cars stood right here. Mister, 
you’ve got the answer!” 

Johnny mopped his face with his hands. 

“Bumped him off with his own gun, too,” he 
muttered. “Right clever, that. Yes, sir, this 
was one of the most clever murders this State can 
boast of. I got to talk to somebody or bust. I’m 
goin’ to find Madeiras.” 

The car was moving away as Johnny swung to 
the ground. Half running, he burst into the 
Palace barroom. Scanlon dropped his cards as 
he caught sight of him. 

Vinnie shouted: “My God, you dead, Johnny?” 

“Dead, hell!” Johnny roared. “Do I look like 
a dead one? Where’s Madeiras?” 

“He ain’t been here,” Scanlon answered. 

“He was in town last night,” the boy exclaimed. 
“He ain’t far off right now. If you see him tell 
him I’m lookin’ for him—to come on the run!” 

Turning on his heel, Johnny flung himself 
through the door, deaf to the questions in Scan¬ 
lon’s eyes. 

Vinnie stared at his partner. The other men 
present likewise looked at one another. What 



DICE COMES BACK TO LIFE 247 


had happened? Where had Johnny been? Gal¬ 
lup had seen his ghost, eh? The laugh was on 
Aaron. 

“He’s rearin’ right up for a ghost, ain’t he?” 
Scanlon declared. 

“Sumthin’ goin’ to happen right soon, now,” 
somebody stated. “I ain’t never seen Johnny so 
hostile.” 

“That’s too bad,” Scanlon muttered. “Trouble 
cornin’—and Doc Ritter forty miles away. They 
ain’t no advantages in this town 1” 



CHAPTER XXV. 


MADEIRAS ASSERTS HIMSELF. 

Johnny combed the town without finding the 
Basque. No one would even admit that they had 
seen him. The boy refused to give up. Madeiras 
was there, somewhere, and he intended to find 
him. It was wasted effort, Tony having left the 
Rock as Johnny crouched upon the freight car. 

The day had been one of misery for the Basque. 
He believed that he had killed Johnny. He was 
hardly less certain about having seen the boy’s 
ghost. He was primitive and superstitious enough, 
too, to accept the fact that a dead man’s spirit 
could return to haunt its enemies. 

Tony had promised himself that Gallup should 
never get Molly. For this reason he slept in 
Brackett’s stable. Aaron kept his rig there. If 
he set out for the Diamond-Bar, Madeiras would 
know it. 

The Basque, brooding all day long over 
248 


MADEIRAS ASSERTS HIMSELF 249 


Johnny’s death, found the fact that he was keep¬ 
ing Gallup from Molly small recompense for the 
loss of the body. More than once the Basque 
wished that he had killed the coroner. He told 
himself that he would have to do it some day. 
Gallup would have to pay his debt. 

Tony had managed to secure more than enough 
to drink during the last day or two. He had been 
half intoxicated when Gallup had entered the 
stables an hour back and hitched up his team. 
Soon after the old man had left, the Basque slid 
down from his nest in the hay mow. 

“Por Dios!” he cursed. “So he go after all, 
eh? Better I tak’ her than heem. I say, some¬ 
time I keel that man—to-night be the time!” 

Madeiras had left his horse with an uncle at 
the Casa Espafiol. The animal was under lock 
and key when Tony got there. Half an hour was 
wasted in awakening Felipe and unlocking the 
barn. 

But at last the Basque set sail for the Diamond- 
Bar. He raked his pony with the spurs as he 
urged him on. Gallup could not be far ahead. 



2 5° 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


The ride began to sober him and he wondered 
how Gallup had come so far. 

Miles unwound until the Basque had covered 
half the distance to the ranch. He had yet to 
catch a glimpse of Aaron. After another mile 
Madeiras pulled up his horse. 

“Where I mees that man?” he asked himself. 
“I come fas’—no team keep ahead of me.” He 
snapped his fingers at a sudden thought. “Mebbe 
he leave those team bellin’ while I was’e all that 
time wit’ ole Felipe, and some mens tak’ him in 
those dam’ flivver.” 

Madeiras uttered a wild cry as he caught sight 
of the ranch. He was breaking all records to¬ 
night. 

Not until he was within a quarter of a mile of 
the house did he bring his horse to a canter. A 
hundred yards more and he vaulted to the ground. 
Gun in hand, he left the pony and went crawling 
away through the sage. Passing to the rear of 
the house and finding the door unlocked, he 
stepped inside. 

Madeiras knew the place too well to need a 
guide to lead him to the girl’s room. Not a light 



MADEIRAS ASSERTS HIMSELF 251 


was burning. If Gallup had been here he was 
gone now. The thought made the Basque less 
cautious. His spur chains tinkled as he hurried 
to Molly’s door. It was locked. Molly heard 
him tapping for admission. 

“Who is it?” she demanded, frightened. 

“Quick!” Tony whispered. “It’s Madeiras. 
Gallup ees cornin’ to tak’ you. Open the door!” 

“I will not!” came the girl’s voice, strong, de¬ 
fiant. “Go at once or I’ll scream.” 

“Scream!” the Basque dared her as he put his 
shoulder to the door and snapped the lock. “You 
come wit’ me.” 

A wave of emotion smote Madeiras as he 
sprang into the room. Molly had lighted a lamp. 
He saw her crouching against the bed, her night¬ 
gown open at the throat and half revealing the 
swelling bosom, the tapering limbs. The fragrance 
of her pink and white loveliness intoxicated the 
Basque. No wonder that Gallup wanted her. No 
wonder that Johnny had. 

Molly had never been anything more than a 
tomboy to the Basque. He saw her now for a 
flesh-and-blood goddess. 



252 


SMOKE OF THE ,45 


The girl read his look and opened her mouth 
to cry out. The Basque saw her start and he 
leaped toward her. Molly struggled as his hand 
closed over her mouth. 

“Don’t you yell,” he warned her. “You t’ink 
I’m pretty bad frien’, eh? Some day, mebbe, you 
change your min’. I tak’ you now. You go wit’ 
me! What I care for Kent? What I care for 
Gallup? I keel my bes’ frien’; but Madre de 
Dios, I die for you!” 

Molly beat his hands and scratched his face, 
but a kitten would not have been more helpless 
against the strength of him. She felt herself 
lifted into his arms. With one hand Madeiras 
snatched up a pile of clothing. The next instant 
he was striding down the hall, carrying her as if 
she were no weight at all. 

A hundred yards from the house the Basque 
turned, and shaking his fist at it he cried: 

“By God, for once Tony Madeiras ees the 
boss!” 



CHAPTER XXVI. 


BETWEEN THE LINES. 

Old Aaron had no intention of going to the 
Diamond-Bar when he drove away from Brack¬ 
ett’s stable. If the Basque had followed him for 
a block of two he would have known as much 
because Gallup turned his team from the main 
road and pulled up before his own house. 

Johnny was standing in front of the hotel at 
the time and he promptly surmised the reason for 
Aaron’s use of his team. The boy had about given 
up any hope of finding Madeiras. The appear¬ 
ance of Gallup made him decide to act alone. 

“Sure as you’re born,” he said to himself, “that 
old crook is goin’ to take Thunder Bird out in 
the brush and pump lead into him. : I bet I’ll 
have somethin’ to say about that.” 

When Johnny crept around to the front of the 
house he saw that he was not mistaken. The old 
chief, bound and gagged, sat disconsolately in the 
253 


254 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


rig. Aaron had gone back upstairs. The boy 
could hear him closing a door. 

“Here’s where I take it on the run,” Johnny 
told himself. A minute later he was in the buck- 
board beside the Indian. Grabbing the reins and 
giving the horses the gad took only a second. 

When Gallup came out the team was gone. 
He cursed and ranted, but Johnny and Thunder 
Bird were beyond the sound of his rage. 

A mile out of town the boy brought the team 
to a halt. Thunder Bird’s eyes expressed no sur¬ 
prise. When Johnny had untied him and removed 
the gag from his mouth the chief made no attempt 
to speak. 

“Men come soon, chief,” Johnny said, thor¬ 
oughly provoked at the other’s reticence. “You 
make talk pretty quick.” 

Thunder Bird shook his head slowly. “No 
talk, me,” he mumbled. 

“No?” Johnny exclaimed hotly. “Mebbe so 
you change um mind. All the same I not come, 
Gallup kill you.” 

A sound, almost a laugh, broke from Thunder 



BETWEEN THE LINES 


255 


Bird’s lips. “I think—me—mebbe so you come. 
I see you on top train.” 

Johnny disregarded the Indian’s words. 

“Chief,” he said, “many, many years you not 
come to white man’s town. Why you come to¬ 
night?” 

“No tell him that?” 

“Gallup old friend with you, eh? You come, 
he tie you up—why you let him do that?” 

Thunder Bird’s chin was resting upon his chest. 
“Huy!” he grunted. “Too old, me—too old.” 

Johnny was not getting anywhere. “Chief,” 
he drawled, unpleasantly, “it was you that Tray- 
nor came to see.” 

Thunder Bird turned his shrewd old eyes on the 
boy. “Mebbe,” he answered. 

It was admission enough. 

“So,” Johnny continued, “you know who kill 
him, too, eh?” 

The Indian did not answer at once. When he 
did, he surprised the boy. 

“Mebbe me.” A soft, mocking laugh followed. 

Johnny stared at him. “No,” he said at last. 
“No—no! He come on Reservation—he come 



256 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


away from Reservation. You no kill him. White 
man kill him.” Johnny tapped his chest. “Me, 
I know how”—pointing to the chief—“you know 
why. Traynor no fool. He watch. Man catch 
him when he sleep. If you not tell me his name, 
chief, easy me, I find out who brung you to town. 
Mebbe that man talk. Lots of men talk by and 
by. You talk now, eh?” 

Thunder Bird shook his head determinedly. 
“No talk, me. You wait—two, t’ree day you find 
out.” 

It was an artful answer. Johnny understood 
the cunning insinuation it carried. A muttered 
“Humph!” escaped him. “You mean, chief, that 
in two or three days somebody ’ll find a man with 
a bullet hole clean through him or with a knife 
stuck in his back, and he’ll be the man that killed 
Traynor. I savvy your talk, but it don’t go. 
Dead men don’t talk. No talk, no good.” 

“Man talk, jail catch urn.” 

This observation gave Johnny renewed hope. 
“You talk now,” he said, “law catch um man, no 
catch um you. No talk now, mebbe so law catch 
um you by and by.” 



BETWEEN THE LINES 


257 


Thunder Bird was unmoved. “No,” he mur¬ 
mured. “Law no catch um me. Law no good 
for Indian—nothing no good for Indian. Piute 
make his own medicine.” 

“Sometime Piute medicine is bad. No good all 
time,” Johnny argued. “I make good medicine 
for you, all the same you tell me.” 

Thunder Bird would not unbend. Again and 
again Johnny tried to make him speak. The boy’s 
patience gave out in the end. He knew that in 
ten minutes the old Indian could clear up the 
mystery of Traynor’s death if he would. But, 
no; his dignity as a chief had been assailed, and 
Thunder Bird was going to avenge the wrong in 
his own way. He couldn’t have said it any plainer. 

And the prospective victim- Who else but 

old Aaron? 

There could be no doubt of it. Johnny was 
satisfied that the chief was pointing to Gallup as 
the murderer of Crosbie Traynor. But the In¬ 
dian had not made a single statement that could 
be used as evidence to convict the coroner. His 
words were all innuendo. A man had to make 
his own conclusions. 




258 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Johnny knew from experience that threats were 
idle with Thunder Bird. He would talk when it 
pleased him to do so, and not before. Jumping 
to the ground he said sharply: 

“Chief, you take the team; you go Reservation. 
I watch Gallup. Best you no come back. If you 
see Madeiras tell him I want him come quick. 
You fan it now if you want to get back before 
daylight.” 

Johnny trudged to town as the chief drove 
away. He felt defeated, held off when success 
was almost within his grasp. Perhaps the wish 
was father to the thought, but it was easy for him 
to believe that Gallup had killed Traynor. He 
reconstructed the happenings of that tragic night 
on which they had found the man’s body. He 
even recalled some of Gallup’s conversation. 
Viewed, as the boy was doing now, it was in¬ 
criminating. 

But what of Kent? The evidence had pointed 
to him from the start. There were certain facts 
which were unalterable even now, but if Traynor 
had been killed in the manner Johnny believed, 
Kent could not have done it. Hobe had seen him 



BETWEEN THE LINES 


259 


playing cards with Doc Ritter at the very time 
the crime must have been committed. 

“And yet,” the boy thought, “Gallup’s got 
somethin’ on Kent. Absolutely yes!—and he’s 
got him hard. Every guess I’ve got is weak some 
place, even the one about the Indian. If the chief 
was Traynor’s friend, and Traynor was tryin’ to 
square up an old debt, why did Thunder Bird let 
the man come into the Rock? The Indian must 
have known that Kent was shippin’ from here. 
And if he didn’t he knew damn well that Gallup 
was here. 

“Mebbe there was somebody else, too; but the 
chief would have knowed. Ain’t likely he’d ’a’ 
sent a friend up against a stacked deck. And now 
that old devil is out to git Gallup. Sure as he does 
I’m licked, I’m a bust-^a relic. On circumstantial 
evidence I could send two or three men to jail, 
but on the real goods I couldn’t indict a jackass.” 

It was after midnight when Johnny got back 
to the hotel. Scanlon’s game was still active. 
Johnny recognized his fellow players—the two 
Faulkner brothers and Tris Bowles. The Faulk¬ 
ners had been freighting supplies to the Agency. 




26 o 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“Say, Charlie,” Johnny asked the elder of the 
two, “you didn’t come in from the Valley to-day, 
did yuh?” 

“Yeah. Got in ’bout nine o’clock.” 

“That so?” Johnny asked, better pleased with 
himself than he had been for the last two hours. 
“Road’s pretty fair, I guess,” he ran on. “See 
anybody?” 

“No, not until we got just outside of town. 
That human grub worm, Tobias Gale, passed us 
this side of the big hill.” 

“Seein’ him wasn’t seein’ anybody.” 

“Them’s my sentiments,” the younger Tris an¬ 
nounced. “He’s got down to doin’ Injuns out of 
their bit now. Had the old chief himself with 
him to-day.” 

Johnny Dice immediately lost all interest in 
the Messrs. Faulkner and Bowles. Singling out 
Vinnie, he said to him: 

“I got to wake up Tobias for a minute. We 
got some most important business to transact. 
What room did you say he was in?” 

“Now, Johnny,” Vin warned, “those man ees 



BETWEEN THE LINES 


261 


just come to leeve in thees ’otel. He’s goot pay. 
You mak’ no hell now.” 

“Say, you quit scoldin’ me, Vinnie,” Johnny 
laughed. “You don’t know me; I’ve reformed. 
Why the sound of a gun would frighten me 
to death.” 

Vinnie grinned. Johnny Dice could have had 
the shirt from his back if he had asked for it. 

For all of his talk Johnny felt of his gun before 
he knocked on Tobias’ door. He got no answer, 
and after waiting a decent interval he tried the 
door. It was unlocked. Stepping into the room 
he struck a match and held it aloft. 

“I’m damned,” he exclaimed. “He’s gone! 
What can that bird be up to this time of the night ? 
He’s strictly a to-bed-with-the-chickens sort of a 
person. Went out the back way, too, or Vin 
would ’a’ seen him.” 

Johnny was not long in deciding on what he 
would do. Going to the bed he sat down and 
pulled off his boots. 

“I’m goin’ to camp right here,” he said aloud. 
“When little Tobias comes back we’re goin’ to 
make medicine.” 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


TIME TO ACT. 

The room was bathed in sunlight when Johnny 
Dice felt some one prodding him back to con¬ 
sciousness. Vinnie the Basque stood over him, his 
eyes wild with excitement. 

“Dios mio y Johnny!” the man cried. “How 
you come here all night? What you do weeth 
those man Gale?” 

“Search me,” Johnny answered with a yawn. 
“Did I roost here all night?” 

“How I know that? You come up here last 
night.” 

“Sure! Gale wasn’t here. I took off my boots 
and lay down to wait for him. Guess he didn’t 
come back.” 

“You not hurt heem, eh?” Vin inquired 
anxiously. 

“ ’Course not. I’m too anxious to talk to him 
to hurt him.” 


262 


TIME TO ACT 


263 


“Well, plenty trouble come now,’’ the Basque 
said sadly. “Roddy, Gallup, and Kent ees just go 
’way. They look for you. Sheriff, hee’s got war¬ 
rant for you, Johnny.” 

“What?” Johnny pulled on his boots with a 
savage tug. “What’s he after me for?” 

“Kent say hees daughter ees gone; that you 
stole her.” 

“For the love of God!” the boy cried, his face 
paling. “It’s a lie. I was here at midnight. I 
couldn’t ’a’ got to the ranch and back since then 
unless I’d had wings. Just what did Kent say?’* 

“Say the girl ees gone; room all mussed up; 
tracks outside the door.” 

“I can’t believe it, Vin. It’s a trap to git me. 
If Molly’s gone, they took her themselves. Where 
is Madeiras? I counted on him to look after her.” 

Vin shook his head as he saw Johnny lash him¬ 
self into a rage. 

“If Gallup is back of this I’ll bust him. Ain’t 
they tryin’ to find the girl?” 

“St! Gallup say she be weeth you. Eef they 
fin’ you, they fin’ her. They come here look for 



264 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


you. They try fin’ your horse, too. Horse ees 
gone, so they think you gone.” 

“Where they headin’ for?” 

“Elk Valley. Those Faulkner boy say you ees 
ask las’ night ’bout the road to the Reservation.” 

“This gits pretty close to the showdown with 
me,” Johnny growled. “If Roddy ever gits me 
I’m as good as dead. I’d just have to make a 
move to have him shoot me down. ‘Tryin’ to git 
away’ would be his answer. They’ll never take 
me. It’s a pretty mess they’ve cooked up, ain’t 
it?” 

“Well, what you do now, Johnny?” 

“I’m goin’ to do what I should ’a’ done two 
days ago—go to Jim Kelsey. If there is any law r 
in this county, he’s it. Vin, Charlie Paul is campin’ 
at that spring beyond Stiles’s old place. He’s got 
my horse. Go git him for me, will you. Tell him 
to wait in back of the hotel. I’ll slip out that way 
now. No sense gittin’ you or Scanlon mixed up 
in this.” 

“I go myself,” Vin answered. He stopped at 
the door and seemed to hesitate about saying what 
was on his mind. “Johnny,” he said haltingly, 



TIME TO ACT 


265 1 

“you hear all thees bad talk about Madeiras, yet 
you ask for heem. What you theenk?” 

“Say, Vin,” Johnny said warmly, “he’s my best 
friend. What he does is done on my say-so. I 
don’t know where he is or what he is doin’, but 
it’s right with me.” 

Johnny could not have said anything which 
would have pleased the Basque more. The pride 
of race was strong in Vin. His people had been 
fighting from the day they landed for the respect 
of the native sons. 

The boy waited until the Basque had gone be¬ 
fore he moved. He knew that he was face to face 
with trouble. Jim Kelsey held the decision. If 
what Johnny had to tell him was convincing 
enough, the district attorney could not refuse to 
act. 

Gale’s mysterious absence also was of alarming 
importance. Having brought Thunder Bird to 
face the coroner, it followed, as a matter of 
course, that Tobias would endeavor to learn the 
outcome of that visit. 

“He might ’a’ seen me drivin’ off with the old 
chief,” the boy thought. “He stole out of the 



266 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


hotel just as I’m goin’ to do now. You can bet 
the cautious Toby wasn’t headed for Aaron’s 
house.” 

Johnny tried to catch sight of Gallup’s party 
as it rode out of town. To see the better he 
opened the trapdoor which led to the roof of the 
hotel and crawled out upon it. A mile away he 
could see four horsemen riding into the north. 

“A buckboard wasn’t fast enough for Gallup 
to-day, eh?” Johnny muttered. “They’ll never 
git anywhere ridin’ that fast. Aaron ’ll be so 
sore in an hour or two that he’ll want to ride in 
a bed.” 

Johnny crossed the roof to the side nearest the 
railroad tracks and looked down on Gallup’s 
house. 

“My Lord,” he said half aloud, “this would ’a* 
been a grand-stand seat for the doin’s last evenin’. 
If Toby had crawled up here he wouldn’t ’a’ 
missed a thing. And you can just bet your last 
cookie that that’s what he did. He’s just about 
streakin’ it right now for the Reservation. Him 
and the old chief are goin’ to have another pow- 



TIME TO ACT 


267 


wow. Elk Valley is goin’ to be ’way over-popu¬ 
lated before this day is done. I’ve got a hunch 
some of the visitors are never goin’ to come back 
to the Rock—unless Doc brings ’em.” 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 


JOHNNY TALKS AT LAST 

Big Jim greeted Johnny with a laugh. People 
said that the district attorney knew more and said 
less than any one in the county. A look of almost 
infinite wisdom was in his eyes as he studied 
Johnny. 

‘‘Well,” he questioned, “you’re goin’ to bust if 
you don’t talk, Johnny? Let’s have it.” 

“You hit the nail, Jim. Talk—a big order of 
it—is what I want to git off my mind.” 

“I’ve had my ears open, Johnny,” Kelsey said. 
“I wondered when you’d drop in.” 

“You hain’t heard nothin’. You wait. I’ve 
found out a-plenty since I started puttin’ my nose 
into other people’s business, as Gallup would say. 
I’m here to ask for a warrant.” 

“So? For whom?” 

“For the coroner of this county—for the mur¬ 
der of Crosbie Traynor, same having occurred on 
268 


JOHNNY TALKS AT LAST 269 


the night of October 4th in a room at the Palace 
Hotel. You listen to me and see if I’m crazy 
or not. I suppose you heard all the talk that was 
made the night we found the body? Well, I won’t 
waste no time on that, but—I found the dead 
man’s horse. I went through the saddlebags and 
I found a picture. Later, I got the dead man’s 
name. I just kept on putting two and two to¬ 
gether until I began to git scared at what I was 
findin’ out. Git your pencil and make some 
notes.” 

Kelsey did as Johnny asked, but he made small 
use of the pencil. His mind grasped the facts 
as Johnny unfolded them. From time to time he 
stopped the boy to insert a question. Whenever 
he did so, Johnny’s answers invariably enabled 
him to leap ahead to the next move in this game 
of life and death. 

Sometimes Johnny raised questioning eyes as he 
wondered if he were making himself understood. 
Kelsey merely grunted in the affirmative. Once he 
whistled. Traynor’s letter to Molly caused that. 

The boy knew his story grasped the man’s mind, 



270 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


for, shrewd as Kelsey was, he could not keep all 
emotion from his eyes. 

Johnny went on, bit by bit, until he had not 
only divulged his information, but had convinced 
the attorney of the conclusions he had drawn. 

“Can I be wrong, Jim?” Johnny asked when 
he had finished. 

“I don’t think so. But you’ve got a house of 
cards. One absolutely provable fact is all you 
need to make your evidence steel proof. I’m 
willin’ to go ahead. I know Roddy, he ought to 
be recalled. Lord know’s you’ve got more than 
enough to arrest them on suspicion, but I wouldn’t 
do it that way. Charge Gallup with it. Facts 
come out in a trial that you never dream of. 
We’ll arrest the whole clique—Gallup, Gale, Kent, 
and even the Indian.” 

“I don’t want Kent charged with murder,” 
Johnny stated. “Can’t we scare him into turning 
on Gallup? Aaron’s the boy at the bottom of 
this pile.” 

“If you feel that way about it, Johnny, why not 
wait? Gallup will trip up if you give him time. 
Kent may put himself in the clear.” 



JOHNNY TALKS AT LAST 271 


“No waitin’ now, Jim. Trouble has caught 
right up with us. Roddy, Kent, Gallup and some 
deputy are out gunning for me. They’ve got a 
warrant chargin’ me with abductin’ Miss Molly. 
Havin’ done it once, they’ve framed me into it 
again. It’s just a game. They’ve taken the girl 
themselves. If Roddy gits a gun on me and I 
move a finger—good night—I’m a dead man.” 

Kelsey was on his feet. “We’ll go. You get 
Ritter, maybe Scanlon, too. I’ll be at the hotel 
in fifteen minutes at the latest.” 

“Come armed,” Johnny warned. “This is goin’ 
to be a battle. Gale is no doubt on the Reserva¬ 
tion. Gallup will bump him off if he gits a chance. 
The same goes for the chief. It’s a nice little way 
to shut men’s mouths. If we lose Gale or the 
Injun, we’re stuck.” 

“That is not what I’m afraid of,” Kelsey 
answered. “Gallup is over his head in going to 
Elk Valley. Thunder Bird has more power than 
you suspect. Gallup has humiliated and shamed 
him. It’s the one thing the old buck won’t over¬ 
look. You could put a regiment of troops in Elk 
Valley and Gallup would still be in danger. When 



272 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


it comes to a matter of tribal honor—look out! 
You can talk all you want to about civilization and 
its effect on the poor, downtrodden Indian; but 
he’s got a kick left in him still. Four or five men 
are all we need.” 

“That ’ll be you, me, Doc Ritter, Scanlon, and 
Charlie Paul. We’ll be ready when you git there.” 

It happened, however, that when Kelsey rode 
up Vin had not returned with Charlie and Johnny’s 
horse. A few minutes later, though, they arrived. 
The delay had allowed a crowd to form, for, in 
spite of Johnny’s demand for secrecy, the news 
that a posse was being organized had spread. 

Heavily armed, the five men rode out of the 
Rock. Soon after the town was left behind, Kel¬ 
sey held up his hand and brought them to a stop. 

“Men,” said he, “you know what we’re going 
after. I hope we won’t have to fire a shot. I 
hold that shooting that goes unpunished because 
it’s within the letter of the law is almost as bad 
as though it weren’t. Law ought to mean justice 
and a square deal to all; when it’s less than that, 
I don’t want any of it. Let’s go!” 



CHAPTER XXIX 


EVIDENCE TO CONVICT 

Johnny was leading the posse two hours later 
when he signaled to the other men. “Rig cornin’,” 
he called as they moved within hearing distance. 
“Ought to pass it just about where the road forks. 
Let’s hit it up a little.” 

Riding in close formation, they began rapidly 
to diminish the distance between themselves and 
the oncoming team. 

“Driver asleep, him,” the keen-eyed Charlie 
called to Johnny. 

“Sorry, but we’ll have to disturb him,” Johnny 
answered. “Better spread out, boys. That team 
is runnin’.” 

In ten minutes the team was almost up with 
them. 

“Whoa, there!” Johnny cried, but the driver 
paid no attention to the hail. “Look out!” the 
boy shouted to Doc Ritter. “I’ll yank ’em as 
they go by.” 


273 


274 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Whirling his horse, Johnny planted himself in 
the path of the galloping team. A mad dive for 
a bridle strap, and he had the off horse on its 
haunches. “Grab the gray, Charlie!” he cried 
to the Indian. 

Charlie Paul’s hands shot out, and in another 
second the team was halted. Johnny took a look 
at the driver, who had slipped to the floor of the 
rig, his face blood-stained; blank, wide-open eyes 
staring up at the sky. 

“There you are, Jim,” Johnny shouted to Kel¬ 
sey as he recognized the bloocbsmeared face. 
“It’s Toby Gale! They got him, just as I said 
they would.” 

“God!” Kelsey moaned. “He’s all banged up, 
ain’t he? Give me a hand, and we’ll get him out 
of the wagon.” 

“He’s goin’ to die,” Doc Ritter announced after 
a hurried examination, “but he’ll come back for 
a second or so before he goes. Somebody give 
me some whiskey.” 

Scanlon obliged, and between them they fanned 
the man’s dying spark of life into a smoldering 



EVIDENCE TO CONVICT 


275 


flame. Tobias eyed the five of them in turn. 
Johnny held his gaze. 

“Can you talk?” the boy asked. 

Gale tried to move his lips, but no intelligent 
sound came from them. 

“Wait, I’ll lift up his head a bit,” Doc volun¬ 
teered. 

Gale licked his lips. Seconds dragged by before 
he made a sound. When he did speak it was in 
flat, lifeless tones. He was looking at Ritter. 
“I’m dying, ain’t I, Doc?” he asked. 

“You’re pretty bad off,” Doc told him honestly. 

Tobias just gazed helplessly at Ritter, searching 
the doctor’s face for sign of the truth which he 
feared. The little man’s eyelids drew back from 
the pupils of his eyes as he read his fate. 

“Oh, God, Doc, I don’t want to die!” he 
moaned. “I’m afraid of it. I can feel it coming 
on. It’s awful!” 

An unearthly sound broke from his lips. Ritter 
forced more of the whiskey down his throat. 
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. “Who 
shot you?” 

Tobias shook his head slightly. “Let me talk, 



276 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Ritter,” he muttered.. “My God, IVe never 
talked. Let me have a chance now. You others 
go away. I want to speak just to Johnny and 
Kelsey.” 

“Better humor him,” Ritter advised as he got 
to his feet. “He’ll go in a few minutes.” 

Johnny and the district attorney nodded their 
heads and got to their knees beside the dying man. 

“What is it, Toby?” Johnny asked. 

Toby stared at the boy for an interval before 
he answered. “You hate Aaron Gallup even as 
I do,” he said at last. “That’s why I called for 
you. Yes, I do hate him,” he repeated in answer 
to the question in the boy’s eyes. “I’ve always 
hated him—but he’s got me.” 

“Gallup shot you?” 

“Aaron Gallup—get that straight. Roddy was 
with him. Roddy didn’t shoot, though. 

“I was going to the Reservation. I’d brought 
the chief in to see Gallup last night—I’ll tell you 
why later. You know they had trouble. I was on 
top the hotel. I saw you drive away with the old 
Indian. I got a team and started after you about 
daylight. 



EVIDENCE TO CONVICT 


277 


“I got just about here when I saw four men 
coming fast. I thought they were after me, and 
I raced the horses. The four of them split up at 
the forks. Roddy and Gallup chased me. When 
I saw it was Gallup I was afraid to stop. He 
yelled at me—so did the sheriff, but I kept on 
going. 

“Gallup fired then. I must have turned around, 
for I saw his gun flash again. I fell out of the 
rig, I remember, because I was on the ground 
when I opened my eyes. Gallup was standing 
over me. ‘Guess you’ll stop now,’ he said. ‘You 
can talk your damned head off if you want to. 
Won’t be any one to hear you blabbin’ about me.’ 

“I let him know then that I had brought the 
chief to see him. Ha, ha—it was almost worth 
getting killed to be able to tell him that. He 
raised his foot and kicked me in the face, and 
riddled me again. He’s got plenty to swing for, 
Kelsey. Not me alone, either. Johnny knows 
I’m right about that. Due to me that man Tray- 
nor came to the Rock. I don’t know how it hap¬ 
pened, but Gallup or Kent killed him.” 



278 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Johnny and Kelsey flashed a glance at each 
other. 

“Oh, Lord!” Gale moaned. “I can’t breathe. 
Where’s that bottle?” 

“Give him all he wants,” Ritter called to 
Johnny. “It won’t put him under.” 

Johnny had been staring at the man’s ragged 
chest, but he had to turn his head away as the 
stimulant began to have an effect on Gale’s heart. 

“I got to talk quick, don’t I?” Tobias asked. 
“Gallup ground me into the dirt for years. I 
made up my mind to get square with him some 
time. He was too cautious. I knew he had 
covered up something in his past. It must have 
been two years before I got on the trail of what 
it was. 

“I was on the Reservation one day. Thunder 
Bird was getting married again. He was all 
decked out. Around his neck he had a chain of 
beads, and hanging on the middle of it was a 
piece of a white man’s silver watch chain. It was 
Mexican made, I guess—I’d only seen the like of 
it once before; Gallup had such a chain, and it 
always looked to me as if it had been broken off. 



EVIDENCE TO CONVICT 


279 


“I asked the chief where he got those links. 
He was on edge in a second. I mentioned Gallup’s 
name. That floored him. I found out afterward 
that he had not been in town for years, that he 
had no idea of Gallup’s nearness. I made a good 
friend of the Indian. It took me a year or more 
to piece together the story of Gallup’s past; but I 
got it. That was three years ago. 

“I managed it so that Thunder Bird got a look 
at Kent and Gallup. He recognized them at a 
glance. 

“I got busy hunting for Traynor. Took me 
until a month ago to find him. When he came I 
was on the Reservation. I talked to him, and part 
of what I’m going to tell you I got from him, the 
rest from the chief. Now, for God’s sake don’t 
let me pass out until I’ve finished.” 

Gale paused for a second or so. “Got to make 
it short,” he began again. “It was down in Ari¬ 
zona. Traynor, Kent, and Gallup had a copper 
claim in the Painted Desert. Traynor was mar¬ 
ried. Had a wife and baby girl living in Flagstaff. 
All this happened nineteen or twenty years ago. 

“Thunder Bird had skipped from the Reserva- 



28 o 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


tion—some trouble growing out of the Mormon 
raid—he was hiding out down around the Little 
Colorado. Traynor hired him to freight supplies 
to their mine. 

“The claim began to look so good that Gallup 
and Kent decided to get rid of Traynor. They 
sent the Indian to town, and as soon as they were 
alone the two of them jumped their man, hog- 
tied him and rolled him out in the sun to die of 
thirst. Two days nearly finished him. 

“Kent, then, loaded him on a mule and took 
him out north and left him for the buzzards. 
They were in the clear—men dying right along 
like that for want of water. They put up a fine 
show when the Indian returned. Told him Tray¬ 
nor had been gone two days; that they had hunted 
for him until their water gave out. 

“It was a pat yarn, but the Indian noticed that 
broken watch chain and found the piece Traynor 
had twisted off in the fight. That night he stole 
what water there was in camp and went after the 
missing man. He searched for days without find¬ 
ing him. A wandering band of Shewits had picked 
up Traynor and carried him off to their village 



EVIDENCE TO CONVICT 


281 


north of the Virgin. Two months later Thunder 
Bird found him there. 

“Traynor went back to Flagstaff, but Kent and 
Gallup were gone, also his wife and child. Six or 
seven years elapsed before they showed up in this 
country. Traynor’s wife had died. Kent claimed 
the girl for his daughter.” 

“You mean Molly?” Johnny gasped. “She 
ain’t Kent’s daughter?” 

“No. Her right name is Molly Traynor. 
Traynor combed the West looking for them. 
That’s why I couldn’t find him. Gallup had sold 
the mine for a good price. Traynor managed to 
get a little out of it. I guess that about tells it. 

“I didn’t know Kent was shipping from the 
Rock this year or I would ’a’ warned Traynor. 
Gallup had left for Salt Lake to be gone a week. 
I thought it was all right for the man to come 
into town. 

“But both Gallup and Kent were here. I knew 
it that night when I got back. I watched; I was 
sure there’d be trouble. I didn’t want Traynor 
killed. I wanted to break Gallup. He knows 



282 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


how it was done, Kelsey. Make him tell—make 
him talk. Promise me you’ll get him.” 

“Johnny knows how Traynor was killed,” Kel¬ 
sey answered. “If it’s any comfort to you, you 
can bank on it that we’ll get Mr. Gallup—and 



CHAPTER XXX 


MADEIRAS APPEARS AT LAST 

Johnny got to his feet in a daze, leaving it to 
Kelsey to close the dead man’s eyes. The boy 
had easily grasped Gale’s dramatic story, but his 
brain was so busily engaged in separating the 
many details into their proper sequence that it 
was impossible for him to think clearly. 

Out of the jumble of confused facts one thing 
came to overwhelm him. Molly was not Kent’s 
daughter! That was his big surprise. 

In a way, Gale’s story explained things about 
as Johnny had fancied them. Beyond question 
Gallup had been the actual murderer. Kent was 
almost equally guilty, though. Johnny realized 
how impossible it was going to be to keep the 
cattleman from spending the rest of his days in 
jail. 

“Thank God, he ain’t her father!” he said to 
himself. “He’s guilty, and he’ll have to pay for 
it.” 

283 


284 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


The other men were bunched about Kelsey, and 
Johnny heard him say: 

“Gallup shot him. Gale had so much on the 
man that Gallup had to kill him. Johnny had 
enough on Aaron to satisfy me; Tobias clinched 
it. He swore that Jackson Kent and the coroner 
of this county killed Crosbie Traynor—it was to 
hide a crime committed twenty years ago. It’s a 
strange story, boys; but the thing to do now is to 
get going. We want Kent and Gallup alive— 
remember that.” 

“Best thing to do, I guess, is to unhitch the 
team, and put Gale back in the rig and leave him 
here,” Doc suggested. “Did you notice this, Jim? 
Gale’s gun? It’s been shot twice. He must have 
tried to get in a lick.” 

“No,” Johnny cut in. “They fired it after 
they’d got him; threw it in the wagon and gave 
the horses hell. If it hadn’t been for us Gale’s 
body wouldn’t have been found until the team got 
to town. That would have looked like suicide 
to a lot of people.” 

“That’s about the way I figure it,” Kelsey 
agreed. “If you boys are ready we’ll go.” 



MADEIRAS APPEARS AT LAST 285 


Johnny and the district attorney rode abreast 
as the party started on. 

“Glad you didn’t say anythin’ about the girl,” 
the boy remarked. “I want to save her all the 
misery I can.” 

“I know, Johnny; but it’s not going to be pos¬ 
sible to keep Kent out of this. Most of the money 
he has belongs to her. She will get her share of 
Gallup’s pile, too. The best thing to do is to come 
clean with the whole story.” 

“I don’t want you to do that, Jim—not until 
you have to. Only for me there wouldn’t have 
been a murmur. I nailed Gallup and Kent. 
Molly’s happiness is all the reward I want. I’ve 
got a right to ask for that, and I’m doin’ it now. 
I don’t know where she is, but I’ll find her. In 
some way I’m goin’ to try and break this thing 
to her a little at a time. She’s suffered enough 
these past weeks.” 

“Don’t fret, Johnny. And I want to give you 
a bit of advice. You can take it or not. It’s 
well meant. You’ll find the girl. Kent wouldn’t 
harm her. I think I know how things are between 
you; marry her —at once . Get her down to San 



286 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Francisco or Santa Cruz. After you’re there, 
begin to tell her the truth. And remember this— 
when you come back don’t go to the ranch. Get 
a house down in Winnemucca. Buy a car, and 
you’ll be able to get back and forth from the 1 
ranch in no time.” 

“That’s sure a gay future you’re paintin’ for 
me,” Johnny smiled lugubriously. “All I got to 
do is to make her see it—takin’ me and all the 
rest of it.” 

“Well, I’m going to pay you a sincere compli¬ 
ment, Johnny—she couldn’t pick a better man.” 

“Oh, pie!” Johnny exclaimed, ridiculing Kel¬ 
sey’s words. 

“Pie or cream puffs,” the attorney remon¬ 
strated, “it’s all the same with me. I know what 
I know. When a man will play as hard as you 
play, I know he’ll work when the playing days 
are over. The Diamond-Bar is a big property. 
No matter what happens to Kent he’ll have to 
give the girl her share. That ’ll be a job for you. 
Preach it into Miss Molly that she must start a 
clean slate. Old scenes bring back old memories, 
and old memories haunt us. The past is past.” 



MADEIRAS APPEARS AT LAST 287 


Kelsey laughed to himself. “That’s the most 
talking I’ve done in a right smart bit of time. 
No charges, either.” 

Johnny smiled, too. “Well, at least Pm obliged 
to you, Jim,” he drawled. “You’ve got my vote, 
anyhow.” 

Scanlon, who had been riding ahead, drew up 
his horse and waited for the others to come 
abreast him. “We’d better spread out,” he sug¬ 
gested. “If they see us riding together it’s going 
to look suspicious. They don’t know we’re after 
them. If each man goes it alone one of us is sure 
to pick them up. Let the one that does string 
along until he meets another man. Between the 
two of them they ought to get the drop.” 

“You always did know how to draw to a hand, 
Scanlon,” Johnny answered approvingly. “I say, 
break up right here.” 

“All right,” Kelsey agreed. “Each of us under¬ 
stands what to do. I’ll take the eastern canon; 
Scanlon, you go straight ahead; Doc and Johnny 
and Charlie Paul can spread out to the west and 
work north. We’ll meet at the Agency by eve¬ 


ning. 



288 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


In pursuance of this-plan they separated. In 
half an hour Johnny found himself alone, crossing 
a narrowing plain between two broken ranges. 
The Indian was on his left, Doc Ritter on his 
right. By noon time they were miles apart. 

The plain which Johnny had traversed came to 
an end. Before him arose giant mountains. It 
was his intention to scale them and later on to 
cross a high plateau to his north, eventually com¬ 
ing to the trail which led to the post trader’s store. 

The boy’s horse made slow progress during the 
next hour. Every foot of the way was an uphill 
climb. On reaching a fairly level basin in the 
mountainside Johnny stopped to let his pony get 
his wind. Reaching for his tobacco and papers, 
Johnny began rolling a cigarette. 

The zing-g-g-g of a bullet terminated the opera¬ 
tion very abruptly. With a backward lunge the 
boy threw himself out of his saddle, and, hugging 
the ground, wriggled to the cover of a giant bowl¬ 
der. Ten yards away he could see his hat, a neat 
little hole showing where the bullet had passed 
through. 

Not more than a second later, it seemed, an- 



MADEIRAS APPEARS AT LAST 289 


other shot sounded. Johnny’s head swung around 
to find the source of it. As he stared above him 
he saw a man rise to his feet, sway for an instant 
as his gun dropped from his hands, and sink back 
out of sight. 

“It’s Kent!” Johnny gasped. 

A voice called then: 

“Hullo—Johnny! Hees all right for stand up. 
It’s me—Madeiras!” 



CHAPTER XXXI 


THE DEATH CHANT 

“For God’s sake!” Johnny cried when he 
reached Madeiras. “What did you kill him for?” 

“Eet’s either you or heem. You t’ink I let 
heem pump lead into you like that?” 

“Have you been stalkin’ him?” 

“I watch heem all right. Thunder Bird and 
feefty braves ees up beyond. Gallup and Roddy 
ees on other side of mountain. You most t’ink 
eet was a raid. Gallup die if he come close.” 

“We’ve got to stop that, Tony. Gale’s been 
shot. He confessed. Gallup killed both him and 
Traynor. Kelsey and a posse are spread out in 
the hills to git him. I been lookin’ my eyes out 
for you. Who told you I was alive?” 

“The chief. He tell me you want me.” 

“You bet! Kent and Gallup have got Molly 
hidden somewhere. They swore out a warrant 

for me, chargin’ I took her.” 

290 


THE DEATH CHANT 


291 


Tony smiled very superiorly. “No,” he said. 
“They ain’t got her; me, Tony Madeiras, has 
got the girl!” 

“What? You stole her?” 

“Stl I watch Gallup leave town las’ night. I 
lose time before I follow, but I go pretty dam’ 
fas’ when I get started. I t’ink he ees go to the 
ranch. I say I tak’ the girl before I let heem 
have her. For Dios, that girl hate me. I have 
fight to tak’ her away.” Tony shook his head. 
“Such nice girl, Johnny—sometime I wish you not 
come back.” 

“Well, where is she now?” Johnny demanded 
excitedly. 

“Don’ worry; she’s safe—she’s in Thunder 
Bird’s lodge. Hees squaw ees tak’ good care of 
her.” 

“That’s no place for her, Tony. I don’t want 
her to know anythin’ about what’s happenin’ to¬ 
day. You git behind me now and we’ll crawl over 
to Kent. Look out; he may not be dead. He lost 
his rifle, but he may have a pistol on him.” 

“No need be afraid,” Tony assured Johnny. 
“I tak’ good aim.” 



292 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


When they found Kent he was propped against 
a rock with a pistol in his hand, but he was so far 
gone that he could not lift his arm to fire. “Go 
’way,” he muttered. “Let me die in peace.” 

“No, Kent,” answered Johnny. “Too many 
things have happened to-day to go without a word! 
with you. With all your faults I know you love 
Molly. I’ve got to talk. Gale has been killed. 
He told the truth about you and Gallup and Tray- 
nor. There’s a posse surroundin’ Gallup. They’ll 
git him if Thunder Bird don’t.” 

“You lyin’?” the old man questioned. 

“I’ll prove that I ain’t,” the boy replied, and 
he retold part of Gale’s story. 

“You win,” Kent said at last. “I never should 
have opposed you. But I ain’t afraid to die. Best 
that I do, I guess. Molly is against me. You 
killed her love for me—and she did love me. 
Yes, she did! Won’t you fix it some way, Johnny, 
so that she won’t know all—that—that she wasn’t 
my girl? 

“I ain’t taken a penny of her money. In fact, 
IVe doubled what I got out of the mine. It’s all 
hers. Gallup’s got my notes for thirty thousand. 



THE DEATH CHANT 


293 


He won’t be able to collect. That’s good, ain’t it 
—beatin’ him? 

“He shot ‘Cross.’ Got him from the top of 
one of those box cars while I was tryin’ to make 
an alibi for myself by sittin’ in Ritter’s office. 
Think of him turnin’ on me after what we’d been 
through—tryin’ to take Molly. God, I’m glad 
she’s free of him! Tell her you and me made it 
up, Johnny—that I said I hoped you two ’d be 
happy. Will you do that?” 

The old man tried to lift his arm beseechingly. 

“Don’t let her know about me—don’t tell her 
she wasn’t my child,” he begged. “I raised her, 
Johnny—her little baby hands. I can feel them.” 

In spite of Johnny’s efforts Kent forced himself 
half erect. “You’ve got to promise me, do you 
hear?” he went on. “I couldn’t die if I thought 
she was goin’ to know. I couldn’t, I tell you— 
I—I—couldn’t.” 

He fell back before the boy could catch him. 
Madeiras put his ear to the man’s chest. 

“He’s gone,” Johnny whispered to the Basque. 
“Yes, sir, the old man’s gone! There’s all that’s 



294 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


left of Jackson Kent. Two months ago who’d 
ever have thought it would come to this?” 

Johnny got to his feet and walked to a bowlder 
and sat down. “I got so I was hatin’ him,” he 
said to Tony, “and yet it kinda chokes me up to 
see him lyin’ there like that. Things used to be 
pretty pleasant in the old days on the range.” 

Johnny’s words and the look on his face caused 
Madeiras more concern than the sight of Kent’s 
lifeless body. Going to the boy’s side, he placed 
his arm around his shoulders. 

“Never min’, Johnny,” he said. “Kent try 
dam’ hard do ever’t’ing bad for you. No reason 
for you mak’ me feel all bus’ up.” 

“No, I don’t suppose there is; but I’m goin’ to 
try and do as he wished. If the old man had been 
all bad he would have put Molly into some insti¬ 
tution and forgot her. Whatever he did that was 
wrong—he was good to her. So don’t talk, Tony. 
These things square themselves in time.” 

Johnny got up and covered Kent’s face. 

“Where’s his horse?” the boy asked. 

“Back where I lef’ mine,” Madeiras answered, 
pointing to a little park of stunted cedars. 



THE DEATH CHANT 


295 


“No matter,” Johnny went on, “we got to leave 
him here or—say! We’ll throw him on my horse 
and tote him to the trees. We can tie him up 
between some of those cedars so the coyotes won’t 
be able to git at him. Give me a hand; we got to 
git movin’.” 

When they arrived at the trees they put a rope 
around Kent’s body, and passed the end of it 
through a noose in another rope which they had 
looped over the top of one of the trees. By this 
arrangement they were able to lift the body from 
the ground and raise it to a place of safety. 

Johnny had knotted the ropes when he sud¬ 
denly came to attention. Madeiras glanced at 
him sharply. 

“What ees eet?” the Basque asked. 

Johnny had his hands cupped to his ears. 
“Listen,” he whispered. 

Faint, far off, came the measured, significant 
sound which had alarmed the boy. The Basque’s 
expression showed that he, too, heard it. 

“Do you get it?” Johnny asked. “Turn, tum s 
tu-um, turn, turn —it’s a finger drum.” 

Tony nodded, his voice dry, his hand 



296 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


keeping time with the beat. “Eet’s the death 
chant. Old-” 

‘‘Thunder Bird’s got Gallup!” Johnny finished 
for the Basque. “Thafs what is waitin’ for us on 
the top of this mountain! All we got to do is to 
go into that Piute camp and take Gallup away 
from them. And we’ve got to do it with gab. 
I know Injuns. Every minute we wait here only 
makes our chances slimmer. Believe me, if we’re 
goin’ to save Gallup—we’ve got to travel.” 




CHAPTER XXXII 


THE DEBT IS PAID 

A STRANGE sight awaited Johnny and the 
Basque. Thunder Bird’s braves had surprised 
Gallup and captured him. Roddy, his deputy— 
Sol Ahrens—and Kent had bolted. So, without 
a shot having been fired, old Aaron had been 
marched to the camp at the top of the mountain. 

The rock formation looked very much as if it 
was of volcanic origin, a huge crater or bowl 
having been carved out where the peak of the 
mountain must once have risen. In this bowl was 
the Piute camp. 

Johnny and Madeiras, from the point they had 
gained above the Indians, were able to see what 
went on. Gallup was tied to a stake. Thunder 
Bird sat facing him, and squatting in a circle about 
the doomed man were at least fifty Indians. Two 
or three squaws moved around in back of the 
circle, gathering rocks and depositing them in 

piles within reach of their lords. 

297 


298 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“They’re goin’ to stone him,” Johnny told the 
Basque. “It’s a good old Piute trick.” 

Gallup’s voice rose above the throbbing of the 
drum, but what he said was not intelligible to the 
two men watching him. Thunder Bird sat un¬ 
moved, gloating over the man before him, Aaron’s 
torrent of words only adding to his enjoyment. 

At a signal from one of the chief’s sons the 
squaws left their gathering of rocks and ap¬ 
proached the single lodge which had been erected. 
A brief wrangling, and Johnny saw Molly step 
forth from the tent’s folds. Ten seconds later the 
chief’s lodge fell in the dust. A brief moment 
of labor and the Indian women had it strapped 
on a pony. 

Johnny saw Thunder Bird raise his hand as 
Molly approached him. Plainly he was exhibiting 
her to Gallup. The Indian’s sense of the dramatic 
was superb. He intended that Aaron should think 
that he had stolen her. 

Gallup turned his entreaties to Molly, but she 
seemed deaf to them. Johnny saw her pick up a 
rock from the piles which the squaws had made. 
She held it out questioningly toward old Thunder 



THE DEBT IS PAID 


299 


Bird. Rapid words followed, the chief continuing 
to shake his head negatively. 

Molly’s actions became vehement. The chief 
held up his hand to his women. It ended the 
argument, for the next second Molly was being 
led toward the distant crest of the large bowl. 

“He wouldn’t listen to her,” thought the boy. 
“She savvied those piles of rock.” Aloud, then, 
he added: 

“They’re sendin’ her away. It’s pretty refined 
of the old chief not to make her witness what’s 
cornin’ off.” 

“Well, what we do now?” Tony asked. “You 
t’ink she’s any good for go down there?” 

“I’m goin’ to try it,” Johnny answered. “You 
stay here. Maybe they won’t let me come in to 
camp. If they do I’ll palaver and stall as long 
as I can. Kelsey and the others will be showin’ 
up before long. They can’t be asleep at the 
Agency to what is goin’ on. Ames is Injunwise. 
If these braves git started the top is likely to blow 
off before they’re calmed down again.” 

“Bes\ I t’ink, to stay right here,” Tony stated 
firmly. 



300 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


“And fail—after all my talkin’ ? Not on your 
life. I’m goin’ to git Gallup, as I said I would. 
My luck ain’t so bad. Say, where’d you get that 
trinket on the hat? That’s Traynor’s, ain’t it?” 

“Si. I get heem out of Gallup’s purse when he 
geeve eet to me for keel you. That’s why I mak’ 
so much excitement. Maybe you tak’ eet.” 

Tony offered the gold snake to Johnny, but the 
boy waved it back. 

“No—I’ll play my own stuff. You watch me 
when I git down there. If I hold up my hand, 
you shoot—fire two or three times. I’ll be tellin’ 
’em how many men I got around the rim. If the 
others arrive in time, maybe they’ll understand, 
too.” 

They shook hands, and Johnny moved away, 
Madeiras’s eyes following him. When the boy 
was within two hundred yards of the camp the 
Basque saw him raise his right hand, palm .flat, 
above his head, his left hand, palm pointing down¬ 
ward, dropping until it hung below his waist. It 
was the Piute sign for a parley. 

Johnny avoided any cover, lest it be thought 



THE DEBT IS PAID 


301 


that he stole up on them. A few seconds later he 
was seen. 

Contrary to the white man’s nice little laws, 
these Indians were armed. Johnny caught the 
flash of the sun’s rays on the polished barrels, but 
he continued to walk toward them. Thunder Bird 
turned his head in the boy’s direction as he 
advanced. 

Gallup had recognized Johnny, and he cursed 
him. Johnny ignored Aaron. When he reached 
the chief’s side, the boy’s hands moved until the 
tips of his fingers rested against his forehead. It 
was the sign of friendship. The chief answered 
and motioned to Johnny to sit down. 

Instead of complying, Johnny took the drum 
from the player’s hands, and, holding it before 
Thunder Bird, dropped a handful of dust upon it. 
It was symbolic—the omen of disaster. A mur¬ 
mur passed around the circle of squatting Indians. 

The old chief caught the boy’s meaning. 
“Nah!” he grunted angrily. 

“My tongue speaks no lie,” Johnny answered 
flatly. “It is the drum of death! Many men are 



3 02 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


in the hills. They are near. They no ask ques¬ 
tion—just shoot.” 

Thunder Bird’s head moved back and forth as¬ 
suredly. A sarcastic, mocking grunt broke from 
his lips. “White men run,” he announced. “All 
gone.” 

He referred to the other members of Gallup’s 
party. Not knowing this, Johnny wondered if 
his play was doomed. 

“Some go, many more come, chief,” he went 
on without a sign of wavering. “Piute women 
rub ashes in their hair to-night. Me good friend 
with you, Thunder Bird. Me tell um you, no take 
Gallup—white man want him. Man Gale, he is 
dead; man Kent, he dead, too. Make talk— 
plenty talk. Big Jim come. Many guns come 
with him. Mebbe so you remember Mormon 
fight? Plenty Injun die; no fires in the lodges. 
Now come so happen again.” 

And Johnny stooped and threw a handful of 
dust into his own face; from his lips came the 
doleful notes of the chant for the dead. 

Thunder Bird stirred uneasily. The boy, 
wisely, had made no demands. What he had said 



THE DEBT IS PAID 


303 

had been only the airing of his sadness over the 
calamity facing the tribe. His talk held truths 
as Thunder Bird knew—the Mormon raid, for 
instance. Doubts for the safety of his band 
began to assail the chief. He saw his braves 
staring at Johnny. 

That individual was keenly alive to the fact 
that the issue hung in the balance right now. 
If his bluff were called he would be in for it. 

Bluff was one of Thunder Bird’s weapons also. 
He availed himself of it now. “We keep Gallup,” 
he said. “No take away him. Men not come. 
If men come, where they be?” 

Johnny’s hand was being called. He did not 
flinch. With a look that said a thousand men 
surrounded them he lifted his hand and began 
sweeping it around the edge of the bowl. “They 
are there,” he said. 

His hand pointed toward the spot where 
Madeiras lay. Bang, bang, bang, came the sound 
of the Basque’s gun. 

“There are many,” Johnny paused to say 
cautiously before his hand moved onward. Was 
there any one else up there to answer him 



304 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Scanlon, Doc, Kelsey? God help him if there was 
not. An eternity passed for the boy as his hand 
started again and moved a foot without receiving 
an answer. Johnny knew that he was taking the 
supreme gamble of his life. Another few inches 
his hand moved, and then bang, bang, bang came 
the report of a gun. 

“Good old Doc Ritter,” Johnny murmured to 
himself, thinking he recognized the sound of 
Doc’s heavy calibered weapon. 

Johnny’s hand was sweeping along. Another 
series of shots rang out. A pause then until his 
hand pointed in the very direction in which Molly 
had gone. The next instant a fusillade of shots 
echoed in the basin. Over the crest came a band 
of men—twenty-five or thirty of them. 

“It is Ames and the agent!” Johnny cried 
aloud. “Thank God!” The boy had no need 
to fear that his words had been overheard. The 
Indians were in a panic. Only old Thunder Bird 
sat unmoved. 

Johnny ran toward the oncoming men, his hands 
raised as he shouted to them to put down their 
guns. By the time they met, Kelsey and Scanlon 



THE DEBT IS PAID 


305 


were running down to them. A minute more and 
Ritter and Madeiras appeared. 

Ames had organized the party. 

“What’s it all about, Johnny?” Ames asked. 
“I shore thought they wuz out to raise ha’r.” 

“They just wanted Gallup. He’s treated the 
chief as though he was a water boy. When you 
hurt his dignity you’re hurtin’ somethin’.” 

“Wal, you’d better untie Gallup,” Ames sug¬ 
gested. “He don’t look happy.” 

“I’ll take care of him,” Kelsey announced. “I 
want him for murder.” 

This statement caused some excitement among 
the trader’s party. Kelsey explained briefly. 
“We’ll take him back to town,” he went on. 
“Maybe you can find a horse for the old chief. 
Patch it up with him. I’ll want him for a witness 
when this case comes to trial.” 

Gallup had a tirade ready for Kelsey and the 
others as they approached him. “ ’Bout time 
some one came,” he growled. “Injuns do about 
as they please on the Reservation nowadays.” 

“Aaron Gallup,” Kelsey interrupted, “I’ve got 



3°6 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


a warrant for your arrest. You’re wanted for 
the murder of Crosbie Traynor.” 

Gallup winced as if he had been shot. “Like 
hell I am,” he roared when he recovered his 
breath. “That whipper-snapper there is at the 
bottom of this!” And he hurled an oath at 
Johnny. 

“That’s enough out of you, Gallup,” Kelsey 
snapped. “The boy got you, all right. We’ve 
had Gale’s story also.” 

“And Kent’s,” Johnny added. “He’s dead,” 
he continued in answer to Jim’s question. “He 
tried to plug me; Tony stopped him. It was just 
as we had it figured. Gallup shot Traynor from 
the top of a box car.” 

“That’s goin’ to be right hard on the girl,” 
the trader exclaimed. “Losin’ her paw thata-way. 
I took her and sent her down to my house just a 
while back. The Injuns had her.” 

“You’ll get her now,” Gallup sneered at Johnny, 
“You’re welcome to her. What is she, anyhow? 
You think she’s--” 

Madeiras had plucked a glowing faggot from 
a little “squaw” fire which the Indians had made. 




THE DEBT IS PAID 


307 


He pressed it against Gallup’s mouth. “Wan 
more word, Gallup,” he dared, “and I shove thees 
down your dam’, no-good t’roat!” 

Thunder Bird broke his silence long enough to 
grunt his approval of this proposed action. 

“You and Tony will be going with Ames,” 
Kelsey stated. “Our party will go back the way 
you came, Johnny. Guess we’d better take Kent’s 
body with us. Where’ll we find it?” 

“In that little park of cedars soon after you 
start downhill.” 

“Wal, we’ll git goin’ out of hyar,” Ames an¬ 
nounced. “What about you, chief? Better trail 
along.” 

Thunder Bird shook his head. 

“Suit yoreself. So-long, boys.” 

Gallup, gloomy and sullen, got to his feet; the 
parties separated and soon lost sight of each 
other. 

“Never seen trouble come yit when the agent 
wuz home,” the trader grumbled as they mounted 
their horses. “Reckon this is about Thunder 
Bird’s last good time.” 



CHAPTER XXXIII 


FULFILLMENT 

Johnny found Molly sitting on the steps of 
the trader’s house when he arrived at the Agency. 
Her face was proof enough of the worry and 
excitement she had undergone. The boy’s heart 
sank as he realized that he had to hurt her still 
more by the news he carried. Delay the telling 
as long as he might, the truth had to be faced. 

Johnny might have spared himself this misery, 
for Molly knew more than he suspected, and 
explanations, which Johnny dreaded, were to be 
spared him. 

She ran toward him, arms outstretched, as he 
jumped down from his horse. “Oh, Johnny,” 
she said sadly, “it’s been a terrible day. I think 
I’ll break down completely if you don’t get me 
home at once. I was on the ridge with Mr. Ames 
when you walked into Thunder Bird’s camp. I 

wasn’t afraid for you. The chief had told me so 
308 


FULFILLMENT 


309 


many things this day that I knew he was your 
friend. What did they do with Gallup?” 

“They arrested him for the Traynor murder. 
Aaron shot Gale this mornin’, and Toby confessed 
before he died.” 

“It didn’t need that, though, from what I’ve 
been told, to convict him. You proved your case 
against him. What a beast he has been. And— 
him —what have they done with him?” 

Although he suspected she referred to Kent, 
Johnny stared blankly at Molly. 

“I—I mean Kent,” she went on. “He was with 
Gallup this morning.” 

“Why—er—he’s pretty bad off, I—er-” 

“Is he dead, Johnny? Tell me the truth.” 

Johnny nodded his head slowly. “Yes,” he 
muttered, “he’s dead. He tried to kill me. 
Tony got him.” 

Molly bit her lip in a vain effort to keep the 
tears back. 

“I didn’t want you to know about your father, 
Molly,” the boy mumbled. 

“No, Johnny,” Molly told him frankly. 
“There’s no need for you to fool me longer. 




3 io 


SMOKE OF THE .45 


Thunder Bird told me. Crosbie Traynor was 
my father. No wonder that I felt the call within 
me when I received his note.” 

Johnny caught her as a sob broke from her lips. 
“Oh, Johnny,” she cried. “Take me into your 
arms and pet me. I haven’t any one but you 
now!” 

“I’ll git you away from here, Molly,” the boy 
told her. “We’re goin’ to git married. You take 
some clothes and we’ll go down to California for 
two or three months. Kelsey and Hobe will look 
after things; and Tony, too, if you’ll let him. 
He’s blackened his good name and made you hate 
him to help me. Don’t worry about to-morrow. 
They’ll keep on cornin’ just as regular as if nothin’ 
had ever happened. Time fixes up these hurts.” 

It was even as Johnny said. Three months 
later, basking in the sunshine of old Santa Cruz, 
Molly and Johnny agreed that happiness was just 
beginning for them. 

They had tried to keep their romance a secret, 
but the San Francisco newspapers found them out. 
Although the young couple acted sedately around 
the hotel, they realized, as brides and grooms 



FULFILLMENT 


3 ii 

always do, that people knew they were honey- 
mooners. 

Johnny was sitting - alone on the beach one 
evening, watching the silver-tipped waves break¬ 
ing over the wide sands of Monterey Bay, when 
Molly stole up behind him and slipped her arms 
about his neck. He caught her and held her until 
she paid a proper forfeit with her lips. 

“Nice people do not kiss in public,” Molly said, 
tea singly. 

“Well, you knew my past before you married 
me,” Johnny retorted with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh, did I—there!” And Molly kissed him 
again. “I’ve just received a wonderful letter from 
Jim Kelsey. It’s full of good things about you. 
Jim says he’s sorry he advised you to move out 
of the county. Folks want to elect you to some¬ 
thing or other.” 

Johnny held up his hands in mock horror. 

“No, sir, never again!” he declared. “I’ve got 
the job I was after. Nevada will have to look 
out for herself.” 


THE END. 









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